


Same Time Next Year

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Series: The New Avengers Arc [10]
Category: New Avengers (TV)
Genre: Action, Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 105,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: Ninth in a series. One year after Gambit’s mysterious breakdown during an evening out, Purdey and Gambit’s burgeoning romance is challenged by the shadows of his past. But as they navigate them together, they find that those shadows have more substance in the present day than either of them realised...





	1. Facing the Facts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> Author's Note: A story that's been a long time in the offing. The basic plot's been in my head for years, but undergone a lot of writing and rewriting in the interim. For those that have read the previous instalments in the Arc, this one will finally tie up a thread that's been referenced in many of the stories, most notably "The Anniversary" and "Lost Boys". It's also one of my longest stories to date, so there will be many more chapters to come. I hope you enjoy them!  
> \------------

John Steed could still hear the crack of Dr. David Keel’s fist making contact with his jaw, sixteen years later. He remembered spitting blood on the floor, and the dark, florid bruise that he’d explained away to One-Ten as an encounter with a drunk at a pub who had a bone to pick and a particularly lethal right hook. His superior didn’t believe it, and Steed knew it, but the older man didn’t press the issue, and that was all that mattered. He also didn’t bother to make the connection between the injury and Steed’s casual comment that he wouldn’t be calling on the good doctor for his latest assignment.

Steed’s memory was good, and long. Always had been. A useful asset in the trade, although it could sometimes be a curse as much as a blessing. There were things he wished he could forget-- awful, unpleasant things--but it was equally important for him to remember that he had lived through them, just in case he found himself repeating the experience and needed something to hang onto in the wee hours.

He remembered what they were arguing about, Keel and him, and why the good doctor finally broke his vow to ‘do no harm’ and let loose with his fists in the way he had almost done countless times before. And because he was David Keel, he remembered the doctor wound up patching him up in his surgery afterwards. Because he was a good man who inevitably got angry with himself for getting angry at someone else; one who waited until Carol Wilson had left for the evening before bringing Steed inside, because he was too ashamed to tell her what had happened.

Memory aside, Steed was also good at reading people, but that particular skill had been harder-won, the product of many years of experience, and more than a few mistakes. If asked, Steed would describe himself as a people person, but not in the way the term was usually bandied around. It was more a matter of him figuring out how people worked and pushing the right buttons than just being naturally gregarious and outgoing, though Steed had always been able to play those roles with aplomb. He’d always been good at a party or over dinner, charming and full of bonhomie. But something changed after the War. He changed. He wasn’t entirely certain what it was—he’d never been a misanthrope, or a sadist, or a troublemaker for its own sake. But he developed a habit, a need, call it what you will, to push people--to see how far he could push them. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism—the War, followed by a career in espionage, does not fill one with trust in other people and their motives. So Steed pushed and pushed and pushed, seeing how far he could go, how loyal people really were, how much they’d take, how many liberties their goodwill would allow. It was a good way to divine someone’s mettle. It was also a good way to alienate them. And alienate Steed did. Keel. Dr. King. Venus. Cathy. They’d all been friends to him, in one way or another. He couldn’t fault them for their loyalty or willingness to come to his aid in a pinch. But neither could he fault them for walking away when they felt ill-used one time too many. And Steed had ill-used them. He’d pushed them that little bit too far, just to see if they’d crack. And they had cracked.

Steed knew he was as good at using people as he was at reading them, but no one liked being used. When he met Emma, he’d tried to use her as he’d used the others, but when she reacted with anger, he felt fear, real fear--for the first time in much too long--that she, too, would leave. That was when he realised that he desperately didn’t want to alienate Emma, would do almost anything to prevent it. That their bond had extended past the professional, past even friendship, into something much more precious. Something it would be tantamount to criminal to throw away due to his callous behaviour. So he started to reconsider his methods. He changed. Changed for the better. Changed for Emma. The fact that she left him for something beyond his control was perhaps the cruellest blow fate ever dealt him.

Then Tara came around, and Steed found himself in a new position. Tara was a subordinate, not a talented amateur or a fellow agent of equal standing. Using her would be tantamount to bullying, and anyway, Steed had learned his lesson well from Emma. That ruthless streak that the job entailed would always remain, for his own good as much as his partner’s, but he was more careful now in how he used it. He was no longer eager to test the limits of Tara’s patience. His reward had been an amiable partnership, and an equally amiable parting. Steed was still in touch with Tara, who had yet to let more than a few months pass without at the very least a call or a letter, regardless of where she was in the world. Steed was quite proud of that—how he’d handled that relationship, how it had evolved, and how it continued, despite the end of their professional bond. He’d known when to keep Tara close, and when to let her go. His reward had been someone he knew he could call on in a pinch—and had—without worrying about the weight of history hanging over them, or how she would react. She’d gone on to other, better things, and Steed flattered himself that he had had a hand in that. But he was also humble enough to know that Tara had helped him just as much as he had her, if not more, and he owed her a great deal for guiding him through what had been an admittedly difficult part of his life.

That brought him to his current partners, Purdey and Gambit. Steed was very fond of Purdey. He also knew she was beautiful. It would have been a lie to deny it—Steed had eyes, and knew a beautiful woman when he saw one. But he didn’t look at her the way he had Emma, or even Cathy. It was a sort of academic assessment, as though he were looking at her in a textbook, and she met the definition of ‘beautiful’ that he’d written for himself. But Steed had never felt any desire to chase her, as charming as she was. If he was brutally honest with himself—and Steed often was at this stage in his life--he wanted friends, good friends, the kind he could rely on, not just on the job but in life. And Purdey had been a good friend to him. Smart, sharp, funny, lively, engaging, and more than a little eccentric, she was never anything but good company, guaranteed to brighten up the dullest day. But Steed had seen the glint of hero worship in Purdey’s eyes from the beginning, and he’d been well-schooled in that particular phenomenon with Tara. He knew that it was the idea of him that fascinated Purdey, more than the man himself, and he knew how insubstantial a relationship of any kind was when built on an illusion. The longer Steed had worked with her, the more Purdey had figured out that he was flesh and blood—a legend perhaps, but a man all the same. Steed had felt relief every time another scale fell from her eyes, until they’d all gone, and he’d been laid bare to her as a person. A person who was really, truly her friend now, after all they’d gone through in the roughly two years since they’d become acquainted. There was a frankness between them now, a candidness that had developed in tandem with their comfort level with one another, and the result was a solid friendship, umblemished by romance, that he treasured. Steed considered himself lucky to have someone as incisive yet sympathetic as Purdey in his corner at this stage of his life.

Now, Gambit—Gambit had always been the complete opposite of Purdey when it came to his relationship with Steed. He saw through the inflated, living legend stories instantly, and he knew exactly who, and what, Steed was the second he laid eyes on him. He reminded Steed of David Keel in that way. The difference was that Gambit has become a friend: a solid, loyal friend who hadn’t walked away as Keel had, in spite of that stark, clear-eyed assessment. Steed valued that more than Gambit probably knew. Just as he valued the unvarnished honesty between them. Purdey often accused Steed and Gambit of practising ‘telepathy’, but Steed knew their wordless exchanges were the product of complete honesty coupled with absolute trust. Steed knew Gambit wouldn’t tolerate games or being spun a yarn, and Steed found it something of a relief to forgo the dressing up of the truth in favour of giving it to him straight. It was so refreshingly freeing to be able to cut through all the noise and go right to the heart of the matter. And once all of that nonsense was stripped away, Steed could rely on Gambit, and his hard-won worldly wisdom, to understand whatever Steed conveyed with a look or a few words, and trust Gambit to know how to respond or what to do. Gambit hadn’t let him down yet, and Steed didn’t suspect he would any time soon.

But Steed knew Gambit in ways that went beyond his personality and modus operandi. There were things behind the curtain that Gambit had deftly draped in front of his past that went beyond the thin personnel file that the people in records would permit Steed to see, as per departmental rules. Steed knew that Gambit had seen and experienced things that he didn’t talk about, mostly because he was the same. For that reason, Steed always knew something was very wrong when Gambit started turning down one too many invitations for drinks or dinner, or even a quick friendly chat in the hallway, without the excuse of a date with an attractive women to call him away. Some people sought out distractions when they were struggling, but Gambit shut down and withdrew when he was in distress. Not completely, because that would attract attention. The jokes would still come easily to his lips, but the smile when he told them wouldn’t reach his eyes, and he would slowly, silently, start to drift away—a cancelled evening out here, a solo assignment there. It had happened after Spence, and it happened again after Larry Doomer. Each time, Purdey either didn’t notice or didn’t want to notice, possibly unaware of his personal crisis because she was, in each case, dealing with one of her own, great or small. Steed couldn’t blame her, but he also knew that if the team was to survive, there were some realities that Purdey was going to have to face, eventually, and that Gambit was going to have to let her face them. One of those realities was fast-approaching, and taking its toll on Gambit, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And Steed was determined that, this year, the younger man was not going to get away without providing his female partner with a more thorough explanation.

That was why Steed was sitting in his car outside Gambit’s block of flats in the dying light of a chill autumn day, waiting for the younger man to return from his brief sojourn to Scotland on a research and recce assignment tangentially related to one of their cases. There were half a dozen other, more-junior agents under Steed’s authority who he could have, and would have, selected for that particular task under normal circumstances. An agent of Gambit’s skill and capability was better used elsewhere, and Steed knew it. But Gambit had volunteered, and Steed had accepted his offer, where normally he wouldn’t have even considered it. Under any other circumstances, Gambit probably wouldn’t have been quite so eager to disappear up north to the Highlands, where no one knew him from Adam. But at this time of year, Steed knew it was a place Gambit could hide, could retreat as the dark currents of anxiety and shadows of fear began to overwhelm him, neither of which he could control. At least if he was alone, he didn’t have to exhaust himself further by putting on a brave front for any concerned observers in the process.

But now the few days of private, tortured anticipation were up, and the main event loomed large on both Gambit’s and Steed’s mental calendars. Steed knew and accepted that Gambit would never be able to bear nearly a whole week of someone looking over his shoulder, wringing her hands over his mental state. But Steed had experienced enough of his own personal traumas to know that, on the darkest of days, it was best to have someone with full knowledge of the facts by one’s side to lead one back into the daylight, and he was determined to ensure Gambit had that advantage this time around, even if the one holding his hand in the walk through the shadows wasn’t his. 

A sudden flash of headlights wreaked temporary havoc with Steed’s nightvision, but when his eyes cleared he saw Gambit alight from the XJS across the street. Steed waited until he’d ducked inside his building before getting out of his own car. He reached the front door just as the lift doors closed, timing it perfectly to ensure that Gambit wouldn’t see him as he entered the building, but so that he could call the lift back as quickly as possible. He arrived in the corridor of Gambit’s floor and rounded the corner just as Gambit was unlocking his door. “Ah, Gambit, I’m glad I caught you!” he exclaimed jovially, even though he could have easily waited by the flat door, if not inside, for Gambit to arrive. But Steed was keen to not let Gambit know what his intentions were, at least not right away, and taking up residence in Gambit’s flat when the man himself hadn’t even returned home was a definite red flag. By the same token, it was more difficult for a homeowner to fob someone off when he intercepted him just as he was crossing his own threshold than waiting until said homeowner was already inside and only had to not answer the door to avoid any unwanted visitors. Steed’s plan required perfect timing to be executed properly, but fortunately for him, perfect timing was part of Steed’s stock and trade.

Gambit’s head whipped around in surprise at Steed’s greeting, and Steed was momentarily taken aback at how starkly the harsh overhead lights picked out the too-prominent cheekbones in the noticeably thinner face, and accentuated the loose draping of his suit on his decidedly slimmer frame. Knowing what he did about Gambit’s response to personal stress, Steed had been expecting some signs of distress, but Gambit’s time away meant that Steed was seeing the changes in his appearance all at once, rather than gradually, over a longer period of time. Gambit looked as though he’d lived on nothing but coffee since he left London, and Steed had the awful feeling that that particular scenario wasn’t far from the truth. 

Old pro that he was, Steed quickly concealed his distress at Gambit’s appearance. If Gambit knew Steed was there out of concern, he’d claim to be all right, beg off letting him in with the excuse that he was tired after a long day of travelling, and steadfastly refuse to discuss the most pertinent issue Steed wanted to broach until long after the proverbial deadline had passed. So Steed rearranged his features into his most cheerful smile, and carried on as if it were just an ordinary evening, and Gambit was his ordinary self. “How was the train ride back from Scotland?”

“Nothing to write home about.” Gambit’s eyes were weary, and it was clear he was keeping his long face from getting longer out of sheer force of will, with neither the desire nor the ability to engage in small talk. 

“Really? I’ve always found it lovely this time of year.”

“I didn’t have much time to look at the scenery.” Steed noted that Gambit didn’t specify what had been distracting him for enjoying the view, but he could make a good guess. “Did you want something?”

“Oh, yes. I have this file on the Jarvis assignment.” Steed plucked the file, which he’d brought along as a prop more than anything, out from under his arm. “I was passing by and thought I might drop in and give it to you, in case you want to get a head start on it for tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Gambit looked nonplussed by Steed’s supposed motivation. He stared uncomprehendingly at the file in Steed’s outstretched hand for an uncomfortably long time. Suddenly, he seemed to remember himself, and the niceties of social interaction, and took it with a weak smile. “Thanks, Steed. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” Steed’s now-empty hand joined its umbrella-holding mate behind his back, and he rocked jauntily back on his heels as he waited expectantly for Gambit to finish unlocking his flat door. Gambit did so with one eye still on Steed, popped the door open an inch and assessed the older man’s body language for any tell-tale signs of imminent departure. There weren’t any. When he met Steed’s eyes, all he got in return was a disingenuous smile.

There was a moment where Gambit seemed to debate whether or not he could just slip inside his flat with a quick ‘good night’ and leave Steed stranded on the doorstep. But Gambit knew Steed, and he knew his modus operandi was such that that course of action would only lead to an umbrella thrust across the threshold and a nasty chip out of his door. Steed waited patiently for the fight to leave his colleague’s body, until Gambit sagged resignedly. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” he sighed, without much enthusiasm. Gambit really wasn’t up for company, but Steed was making it infinitely clear in that infuriatingly polite, mannered way of his, that he wasn’t going to go away without an invitation to come in. It was Steed’s secret weapon—to make even the most diabolical mastermind feel like a heel for being rude to him, even if being polite put his plot at risk. It was just as effective when Steed employed it against his friends, perhaps more so. After all, his friends had more to lose—John Steed was a good man to have in your corner.

“That’s extraordinarily kind of you,” Steed enthused, as though Gambit’s invitation had been completely unexpected. “I’ll take you up on that, if you don’t mind.”

“Pleasure,” Gambit replied, with just a hint of sarcasm, gesturing for Steed to go in ahead of him with a wry knowingness. Gambit was onto Steed, and Steed knew he was onto him, but that was all part of the dance, and Gambit knew the steps better than most. What he was counting on, once he’d given Steed the admission to his inner sanctum that he so obviously craved, was that Steed would put his cards on the table and come clean about his true intentions for insinuating his way into Gambit’s evening. “No games.” That had been the deal Gambit had struck with his boss-cum-mentor back in 1975, and for the most part, Steed had held to it, with one or two egregious exceptions. Steed had to know that if he didn’t cut to the chase soon, Gambit was going to pin him down on the issue himself, and all of Steed’s manoeuvring would be naught.

Steed was setting his bowler and brolly on the dining room table when Gambit closed the door behind them, indicating he meant to stay for longer than a quick drink and a chat. Gambit wondered what he’d done—or someone else had done—to warrant this personal intervention. It made him vaguely uneasy, which, given his already not insubstantial personal unease, was not particularly welcome. But Steed usually had a good reason for putting a word in his ear, so he wasn’t about to fob him off without hearing him out. “Scotch?” he offered, crossing to the bar.

“That’ll be fine,” Steed agreed, moving to the window to look out across the city. Gambit glanced at the elegant back as he poured two glasses, then moved to join him. Steed took the glass graciously. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Gambit echoed, and sipped his drink without taking his eyes off Steed. The man was cool as the proverbial cucumber, damn him, leaving Gambit both infuriated and impressed. Those emotions often came in tandem where Steed was concerned. They stood and watched the city dissolve into darkness gradually. Eventually, Gambit said, “Why are you here, Steed?”

“Without getting into specifics, my parents took a rather invigorating holiday in Scotland in 1921…”

Gambit laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head in disbelief at Steed’s cheek. “Fine, I’ll be more specific. Why are you here, in my flat? And don’t say it’s just because of that file.” He pointed accusingly at the folder he’d left resting on the bar. “You know I won’t get a chance to look at it before we start work tomorrow.”

“Surely a man can share a drink with a friend without having his motives questioned?” Steed suggested, feigning offence, then added, carefully and calmly, “Especially on the eve of a day of some personal significance.”

Ah. There it was. “You mean my unhappy anniversary,” Gambit murmured, gazing down into the amber depths of his glass to avoid looking Steed in the eye. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

Steed shook his head. “Africa? A cell? A cruel captor?” Gambit cringed involuntarily, but Steed carried on. “It’s not the sort of thing I’m likely to forget. I didn’t last year, if you recall. I would have paid you a visit then, but you wound up leaning on Purdey. A task she rose to admirably, as I recall. Even if she wasn’t privy to the specifics.” He trailed off meaningfully, let the words hang in the air between them.

“Ah,” Gambit said with dawning realisation. “You think I should tell Purdey what happened to me.”

“She did you no end of good last year,” Steed pointed out. “At least as far as I was given to understand. I imagine she’d not be unwilling to help you through the darker hours again, but she’ll want to know the full story if she does, and so she should. I think after all you’ve been through together, she’d understand and be sympathetic. But she needs you to let her in. I think it rather frustrates her that you haven’t.”

“You’re right,” Gambit sighed, the admission coming easily. “On all counts. And I have been thinking about telling her.” That was the truth, and not just because of the reasons Steed had given, either. Gambit did know that Purdey was curious about that chapter of his life, was owed an explanation after the catastrophic end to their evening out the previous year. But he also felt that, now that they were involved, these were the sorts of secrets that he wanted—needed—should—open up to his lover about. Indeed, it was the lack of that additional level of intimacy that had caused him to hold back the previous year, had prevented him from telling all. The extra layer of defences that had been stripped away when they became lovers was exactly the sort of thing that needed to happen if he was going to engage in that sort of soul-baring, raw vulnerability. Steed had only been brought into his confidence because of extenuating circumstances, and because Gambit knew that the man had suffered more than his share of similar ordeals. And if Steed knew, then Purdey had even more of a right to know, and he really did want to tell her. But… “It’s hard,” he said finally, looking Steed in the eye for the first time. “It’s not something I like to talk about at the best of times. But by the time tomorrow rolls around, I’ll be a wreck.”

“All the more reason to tell her,” Steed said flatly. “You’re going to wind up reliving that night regardless of whether you tell her or not. You may as well make it a less lonely journey and bring her along.”

Gambit shuddered. “It would be nice to have her with me again, but how do I know if it’s a journey she wants to go on?”

“You know that she cares about you,” Steed said simply. “By default, that means she wants to know how you were hurt and how she can help you recover from it.”

Gambit was starting to look a bit sick. “But it’s not nice to hear about. You know that. I don’t wish it on anyone, even second-hand.”

“Purdey’s made of stern stuff,” Steed said optimistically, clapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t disagree that she’ll find it upsetting, but she won’t faint, either.”

“I know she won’t,” Gambit sighed again. Steed kept making good points, and he was too tired to counter them properly. “But what I worry about is whether she’ll ever look at me the same way again. I can’t take any more people looking at me like I’m a basketcase. After I got out of hospital, I didn’t want anyone to ask me how I was for ages. Even the man on the street.”

Steeed nodded in understanding. “It’s quite common to crave normality, particularly if you’re not the sort of person to make a fuss. I’d say we’re both rather prone to minimising the shape we’re in, more than is probably good for us.” He treated Gambit to a conspiratorial smile. “Unless we’re liable to get some sympathy from an appealing source, and we’re not too incapacitated to take advantage of it.” Gambit laughed a little at that. “But this is too serious an event to play for sympathy. In fact, I suspect there’s going to be no space for play at all.”

“Or ever again,” Gambit said grimly, laughter fading away as quickly as it had come. “I know Purdey’s not the fainting kind, but I don’t want to scare her away because all she can see when she looks at me is some broken shell.” His mouth turned down at the ends like a small child’s, conveying innocent, helpless despair. “After everything we’ve built together, between us, for me to ruin it by throwing a grenade like that in the middle of it all…” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know if I could bear that, having my past be the end of us. Of the team.”

“Ah, but we all have pasts,” Steed reminded. “Pasts that have implications for the present. Purdey had Larry Doomer. She didn’t tell us who he was, or what he’d done, until the eleventh hour. And even when she did, she sabotaged my attempts to stop him. Seen objectively, she betrayed us both. Betrayed our trust.” 

“That was different!” Gambit exclaimed, shaken out his gloom by the fierceness of his tone, almost taken aback by it. “She used to trust Doomer. She didn’t think he could be involved, and when she did work it out, she did try to stop him.”

“Tried, yes. But not as she should have. She was emotional,” Steed said calmly, coldly, grey eyes suddenly devoid of feeling. “No, it was worse than that. She was irrational. Incapacitated.”

“No.” Gambit shook his head, edging away, but Steed was relentless, following him, meeting him stride for stride, backing him into a corner. “No, that’s not fair.”

“Fair isn’t in it,” Steed said sharply, eyes burning into Gambit’s, so ruthless, so steely. “She acted as she did because of what Doomer did to her. And there are words to describe what happened to her. Unpleasant words.”

“Stop!” Gambit demanded, voice hoarse, eyes desperate.

“Abuse.” Steed bit the words off one at a time. “Trauma.” More words. More steps. Gambit slammed back into the bar in an effort to escape, but there was no escape from John Steed, not when he had you in his sights. “Victim.”

“Shut up!” Gambit, nerves ragged, temper fraught, grabbed a handful of Steed’s jacket and yanked forcefully. “Not one more word, you hear me?” he ordered, accent fraying toward the cockney of his youth, teeth bared like a feral animal’s. “Not one!”

Much to his surprise, Steed smiled, the warmth flooding his features just as quickly as it had been extinguished. “I must say, I admire your restraint. I half-expected you to take a swing at me. But, uh--” He cast a look down at the distressed fabric at his chest. “—do you mind? It’s rather hard on the tailoring.” 

All of the tension instantly drained from the room, and from Gambit’s face. He looked down at his fist bunching up Steed’s jacket as though seeing it for the first time, and released it like he’d been burned. “Steed, I, I…” he stammered, edging away, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. “John, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Purdey did,” Steed said simply, tugging at the hem of his jacket to smooth out the creases. “As usual.”

Gambit turned away, tears pricking at his eyes, leaned on the bar, and choked back a sob. Purdey had given Steed the Cliff’s Notes of what had happened between her and Doomer, but since she’d gotten romantically involved with Gambit, she’d given him a much more detailed version, one that still made Gambit’s blood boil and stomach churn in equal measure. Steed couldn’t have known how hard his words would hit home, but he had known they would find their target. Which, Gambit realised, was rather the point. Another of Steed’s teachable moments, albeit perhaps a more brutal one than even the senior agent realised.

“Gambit.” Steed’s hand was on Gambit’s shaking shoulder, forcing him to turn around, even though every fibre of his being resisted it. But turn he did, facing Steed with red eyes and wet cheeks, like a small child who had fallen down and hurt himself in the schoolyard. But all Steed did was smile in that kindly way of his, and continue his lesson. “Purdey’s situation with Doomer wasn’t all that different from your own. She was hurt, badly, in her past. She didn’t tell us about it until late in the day, probably because she was worried that it would change how we thought of her. As a result, that day—the day Doomer died--could have been the end of our team. In some ways it very nearly was. But it wasn’t.” He cocked his head inquisitively at Gambit. “But in spite of it all, did Doomer irretrievably change the way you saw Purdey?”

Gambit wiped his nose with his sleeve and stared at the floor for inspiration. “It made me understand her better,” he said eventually, between shaky breaths. “Why she did the things she did, made the choices she did.” He raised his eyes to meet Steed’s, finally, and added, firmly, “But at the end of the say, she was still Purdey.”

“She was still Purdey,” Steed echoed. “You rejected those words I just used to describe her, because your perception of her has never changed. You’ve refused to let that knowledge determine who she is in your eyes.” He looked hard at Gambit, trying to make him see. “And at the end of your tale, to Purdey, you’ll still be Gambit. I’m not going to deny it may rattle her, just as what she told us rattled you. But these sorts of things should rattle people—it’d be the sign of a very deficient psyche if they didn’t. It means that Purdey cares, just as your reaction to Doomer signalled the same. And it’s because she cares that she won’t let it cloud her vision and become all she sees when she looks at you. She’s built up too much of a picture of you as a man, made up of too many other variables, too many memories, for this to become the overriding one.” He paused and considered. “Which I suppose is why you wanted to wait until you knew each other better before you told her. Not so early in your partnership that it became the lens through which she subsequently viewed everything else about you.”

Gambit smiled weakly. “See, I’m not completely mad.”

“I never said you were,” Steed replied mildly. “And I don’t think you’re mad to have trepidation about telling her. But if I may, I’d like to offer one final piece of advice before you make your decision.”

Gambit regarded him expectantly, taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Go on.”

“You may worry about driving Purdey away by telling her. But you may do that just as easily by keeping her in the dark. If she thinks that you’re keeping things from her, that you won’t let her in, that you don’t trust her, that can be just as damaging as keeping quiet. More so, I’d wager.”

Gambit swallowed hard and nodded. “I want to tell her,” he admitted. “But I think I needed a final push to do it.” He looked gratefully at his boss and friend. “Thanks, Steed.” 

“My pleasure,” Steed replied, releasing his shoulder and turning back to the window. “Now, then, let’s finish our Scotch, and then I’ll be on my way. I think you ought to have an early night. That train ride took more out of you than I thought.”

It was a weak offering by Steed’s standards, but Gambit laughed, in relief, as though it were the funniest thing in the world, for much longer than it warranted. Steed, being Steed, simply sipped his Scotch and smiled.

vvv

Later that evening, after Steed was safely ensconced in his home in the country, with the gentle sounds of horses substituting for the rush of London traffic, he pondered the conversation he’d had with Gambit, and the events that he anticipated would unfold the next day. Steed had long suspected that Gambit wanted to unburden himself to Purdey about that particularly dark chapter of his life, but it hadn’t hurt to give him a little encouragement, and Steed didn’t think he was flattering himself by believing he’d been responsible for nudging Gambit to the point where he’d actually take the plunge. All the same, Steed thought it wouldn’t hurt to lay the groundwork on Purdey’s end, as well, particularly if she failed to recall the exact date of her last encounter with a distraught Gambit. It wasn’t exactly the type of thing one put in one’s calendar. Steed knew Gambit wasn’t the type to lose his nerve once he’d made his mind up to do something, no matter how unpleasant, but all the same, if Purdey was in the picture to encourage him, everything would run much more smoothly. It would be good for both of them, Steed decided. Purdey had been the one doing the unburdening in the past several months, and Gambit had been the willing confidante, supporter, and defender as required. It would be a refreshing change of pace, a rebalancing of their relationship, for Gambit to be the vulnerable one, and Purdey the sympathetic ear, pillar of strength, and fellow warrior standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her colleague against his demons.

Steed nodded to himself in resolution, and reached over to switch off the living room lamp. He’d need to turn in early if he was to rise in time to catch Purdey before she left for work.  
vvv

Purdey, as it happened, wasn’t asleep when Steed called, but had risen early, ostensibly so she could complete some early morning exercises before she got ready for the day. The other reason for her to be up with the larks, which she was trying not to admit to herself, was that the bed felt rather cold and empty without Gambit beside her, as it had the past few nights since he’d been away. Purdey was not the sort of woman to fall apart the second her man was away for any extended period. Indeed, it wasn’t uncommon for her and Gambit not to share a bed for a day or two, lives and work schedules often making it inconvenient not to return to their own flats. And Purdey rather enjoyed sleeping on her own when she was exhausted and wanted to stretch out with the whole bed herself. So she was quite capable of getting on with things, and living her life on her own terms, without Gambit there to hold her hand. But four days was the longest period of time that they’d been apart since the start of their romance, and coupled with the fact that Gambit’s time in Scotland had meant Purdey hadn’t even seen him at work, she was starting to feel his absence, in more ways than one. The bed had started to feel increasingly cold and empty. Her flat had seemed far less lively. Her days seemed to be sapped of a certain amount of levity, joy, and warmth. And, if she were brutally honest with herself, which she couldn’t quite manage at that time of the morning, she was rather missing the sex as well. Despite years of voluntary celibacy after breaking up with Larry, her sex drive had returned in force since she started sleeping with Gambit, and four days without the sensation of his body moulding to hers, without his lips on her flesh and his hands touching her in the most intimate ways he knew how, was starting to build up inside her into an unpleasant tension, a burning need that she herself couldn’t satisfy. Not that she’d tell Gambit that when she saw him, of course. His ego, among other things, would inflate immediately. Although Purdey wasn’t entirely certain that would be as much of a disadvantage as she believed…

Purdey was dragged away from that train of thought with a blush and a start when the phone rang. She moved gracefully over to the side table and picked up the receiver, banishing thoughts of Gambit whispering sweet nothings in her ear. “Hello?”

“Purdey? I sincerely hope I didn’t wake you.” It was Steed’s voice. Given that Purdey had elected not to tell anyone, even their partner and close friend, about her involvement with Gambit, she knew she had to be exceptionally diligent about not allowing her daydreams to reveal themselves in her tone of voice. Steed could pick up on just about anything, and Purdey was only half as sure as she wanted to be that he was still in the dark about what she and Gambit were up to. 

“Steed? You’re giving the early bird something to worry about,” Purdey opined, using the sleeve of the sweatshirt she’d tied around her shoulders to delicately dab away the sweat beaded on her top lip from her workout—well, mostly from her workout. Maybe her thoughts about Gambit were affecting more than she wanted to admit. “No, I was doing my early morning exercises,” she said crisply, leaning and squinting through the beaded curtains that served as her bedroom door to check the clock on the bedside table. “I’m not late, am I? I thought we were meeting at nine.”

Steed chuckled. “No, no, you’re not late at all. I was wondering, have you heard from Gambit at all?”

Purdey steeled herself, hoping that anything she said wouldn’t sound odd. No matter how innocuous the topic, talking about Gambit with Steed always felt as though she was taking a test she was never entirely certain she could pass. “Not since before he left for his train. He knew he was going to get in late, so he wasn’t going to ring me when he arrived. I’m going to see him this morning, so it hardly matters.” She felt a sliver of anxiety wedge itself into her mind. “Steed, is there something wrong? Is Gambit all right?” Concern, at least, was always a fairly innocuous emotion, especially where Gambit was concerned. The man had a habit of making people worry after him, just by being the self-sacrificing idiot he was. Steed wouldn’t think twice about her worrying after Gambit’s well-being, and in any case, if something serious was going on, she hardly cared about keeping secrets. Gambit’s well-being was more important.

“No, no,” Steed soothed, undoubtedly detecting the note of panic in her voice. “But I thought that you might drop in on Gambit on your way in to the Ministry this morning, perhaps offer to drive him in. You could update each other on the progress you’ve made since Gambit went to Scotland.” 

Purdey’s eyebrow climbed higher. “I should think Gambit’s quite capable of driving himself in. Or has he finally crashed the XJS while reliving his racing days?” Steed’s laugh was merry, but there was something Purdey couldn’t quite put her finger on behind it. “All right,” Purdey said carefully, not entirely sure how to construe Steed’s reaction. “I’ll ring him, and—“ 

“All things considered, perhaps it’s better if you go straight to the source,” Steed cut in, in a way that was meant to be construed as a suggestion, but Purdey knew it was an order. “He has had a long trip, and got in very late last night, as you said. He might appreciate being ferried in this morning, although as you know, he’ll hardly accept an offer for help unless it’s waiting for him on his doorstep.”

That sent alarm bells ringing more than anything Steed had said thus far. Gambit liked driving—he’d pursued it briefly as a career, after all. And she didn’t think the train had been so desperately late that he’d feel he wasn’t capable of being behind the wheel. Whatever Steed said, something was wrong with Gambit, and he wanted Purdey there with him. 

Purdey was now feeling very uneasy. “Steed,” she said seriously, “has something important happened that I should know about?”

“If it has, I’m sure Gambit will be happy to tell you all about it,” Steed sidestepped, tone permanently upbeat. “That’s settled then. I’ll let you get back to your workout.”

Purdey knew that was all she was going to get from Steed at this stage, but she was now so concerned that she didn’t need to be persuaded further. She needed to see Gambit for herself, and soon. “I’d better get ready then, hadn’t I?”

Steed, uncharacteristically, sounded relieved. “Excellent. I’ll see you shortly.”

Purdey rang off and practically dashed for the bathroom. Whatever was going on, she felt there wasn’t any time to waste.


	2. Something's Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \--------

Steed’s words lingered in Purdey’s mind on the drive to Gambit’s flat, and she was more than a little worried by the time she pulled up to his building. She started imagining all of the terrible things that might have happened to Gambit while he was gone. Had he been injured while he was in Scotland? But surely Steed would have told her straight away. It was hardly unusual for Gambit to acquire damage in the line of duty, and even though she wasn’t particularly pleased when it happened, Steed knew she could handle those situations more than capably when they arose. She certainly didn’t need to be lied to in order to fend off a nervous breakdown. And besides, even if he had been hurt, it couldn’t have been something worse than a few stitches, because Gambit would be in hospital otherwise, not at home. So if he was physically fine, that meant something else. 

Purdey thought hard. A personal problem? Had someone died? If it was a Ministry colleague, Steed would have told her. A family member? Purdey still didn’t know too much about Gambit’s family, but she knew he must have some, so that was possible. Or perhaps a friend was unwell? She tried to think of anyone Gambit knew who didn’t work with them, and other than the contents of his infamous little black book, came up empty. Gambit still kept those details of his personal life fairly close to his chest, despite their recent involvement. All of the people he was friendly with that she knew about worked at the Ministry, but that didn’t rule out someone from his past she had never met before having taken a bad turn. So either something had happened to someone she didn’t know, or Steed had been alluding to some other issue entirely. As she alighted from her TR7, made a mad dash across the street, and stepped into the lift in Gambit’s block, she decided she would just have to wait and see what was what when she was face to face with the man himself. Unfortunately, that decision did nothing to soothe the tremors in her gut as the lift began its ascent.

And yet, as she watched the floor indicator panel slowly track her progress, Purdey’s mind drifted back to the last time she’d seen Gambit, a scant few days previous, and automatically re-evaluated some key moments that, in retrospect, should have told her something was afoot, long before Steed put his oar in…

vvv

The tranquil peace that had settled onto Gambit’s flat since its owner had departed that morning was shattered suddenly—rudely—unceremoniously--by the turn of a key in the lock. It was followed quickly by hurried footsteps as Gambit barged in, with Purdey close on his heels, her palms pressed to his back, nose nuzzling his neck. Without missing a beat, Gambit spun on his heel and pushed the door shut behind them with one hand, the other already returning his keys to his pocket, before turning both to more pleasurable purposes. “We haven’t got long,” he reminded Purdey, pulling her to him—or did she pull him to her? It was so hard to keep track once their hands started going everywhere. “I told Steed we’d be back at the office by two.”

“I don’t need long,” Purdey said simply, businesslike tone deliciously undercut by her hands running down the length of the lapels of his formally pinstriped suit with lascivious intent. “Just you.”

“That can be arranged,” Gambit murmured, a pleased smile on his lips just before they sought hers as he crowded her against the door.

“I should hope so. It’s the least you can do since it’s your fault that we had to come here in the first place,” Purdey declared, having broken the kiss to better loosen his tie and undo the first few buttons of his shirt.

Her mouth otherwise occupied, Gambit’s lips instead sought out a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. “I don’t know what I’m guilty of,” he admitted, in a tone that was less-than-innocent, and definitely not repentant, “but if you let me know, I’ll make sure to do it again.”

“You know perfectly well what you did,” Purdey said pertly, unbuttoning his waistcoat with nimble fingers. “You know how vulnerable I am to the tailoring on this suit, and yet you chose to wear it on today of all days, when you know we have all of officialdom breathing down our necks at a very important departmental meeting. And then you made it worse by shooting smouldering looks at me across the table all through McBain’s presentation.”

Gambit pulled back and regarded her with hooded sea-green eyes, slightly pouted lips curved in a slightly wicked, humourous smile. “What looks?” he asked innocently.

“Looks like those,” Purdey said drily. “Honestly, Mike, it wasn’t fair. I couldn’t hear a word McBain said because of you.”

“Nothing to do with you playing footsie with me under the table, then?” Gambit pointed out wryly, eyebrows rising incredulously.

That gave Purdey pause. “Well…”

“Never mind,” Gambit said with faux regret. “I’ll take my punishment.” He was interrupted by Purdey’s delighted exclamation of surprise as her blouse opened effortlessly beneath his fingers. “—and make reparations.”

“You had better,” Purdey teased, as Gambit gathered her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, and carried her bodily to the couch, where he used a knee to nudge the mechanism. “I won’t get any work done otherwise.”

Gambit adopted a mock serious expression. “This is purely to improve productively, then.”

Purdey nodded smartly in his arms. “Definitely. It’s our only motivation.”

“Absolutely.”

“Positively.” Never one to be shown up on the definitives front, Purdey flashed a triumphant grin at having had the last word just before they tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. Somehow, they managed to get everything straightened out in record time, if the chanting of Gambit’s Christian name that followed was any indication.

When the last echoes of their shared cries had faded into the depths of Gambit’s blessedly sound-proofed walls—Purdey tried not to think about what her neighbours might be privy to—and they were laid out side by side, stretched out on their backs, chests heaving and identical blissful expressions written across their faces, Purdey finally attempted to rearrange her thoughts into something semi-coherent. “We ought to have been doing that long ago,” she panted, eyes half-closed, parted lips still sucking in great lungfuls of calming air.

Gambit managed a lusty chuckle despite his boneless sprawl. “I hate to say I told you so, but…”

“Oh, you would say that,” Purdey sighed, turning onto her side so she could rest her head on his chest. “But you would also be right.”

“Right?” Gambit repeated, mock-incredulous. “Me? It’s amazing what you’ll admit after sex.”

“Oh!” Purdey gently swatted his bare chest, then soothed the bare skin with her fingertips before his nerves registered even a hint of a sting. “You’re incorrigible, Mike Gambit. But you’re also the most wonderful man I’ve ever known, and I love you dearly.”

“I’ll have to remember what I did just now. I’ve clearly short-circuited your brain,” Gambit quipped, tongue-in-cheek, brushing some hair out of Purdey’s eyes as she turned her face up to look at him. “To have the most beautiful, most brilliant woman in the world say things like that to me, it must have been one for the record books.”

“What you’ve done is make me happy, Mike,” Purdey said truthfully, rolling over and onto him, her body flopping effortlessly to layer over his. 

Gambit looked up at her with a mixture of love and wonder. “Funny. I was just about to say the same,” he murmured, finger tracing the curve of her cheek, then drifting down the elegant line of her neck, over her delicately cut clavicle, before his fingertips fell to idly hook the edge of her bra. “How did I get so lucky?” he asked rhetorically, head shaking in mild disbelief. “To fall in love with you and have you love me back?”

“How did we get so lucky, you mean?” Purdey amended, mirroring his gestures on his own chest, before bending to press her lips to the skin revealed by his open shirt. Gambit’s eyes fluttered closed at the sheer bliss that washed over him at the sensation. “You gorgeous, wonderful man,” she praised, slithering lower, before kissing a trail from Gambit’s trouser waistband up the exposed flesh, finishing with a kiss on his lips before folding her arms atop his chest, and resting her chin on top, smiling beatifically at him. 

“It’s a good job we decided not to tell anyone about us yet,” Gambit murmured, eyes glittering as they met hers. “It’d be sickening, watching us carrying on like this.”

“Yes, we are almost disgustingly happy, aren’t we?” Purdey agreed, nose wrinkling endearingly. “I didn’t know I could sail on quite so blissfully for so long,” she confessed, tipping her head so her cheek pressed against his bare chest. “I keep trying to work out what we’ve done to deserve it.”

“We did put in almost two years of groundwork,” Gambit pointed out, fingers playing idly with her hair, “so it didn’t exactly fall in our laps.”

“I suppose,” Purdey sighed contentedly, savouring the sensation of Gambit’s fingers combing their way through her blonde strands. “But it’s all been so idyllic, being with you.” She started drawing small circles on his rib cage, not far from the small scar left behind by one of the infamous three Berlin wall bullets. “I suppose I keep expecting the other shoe to drop.’

“Now who’s thinking negatively?” Gambit chided, wagging a finger in mock rebuke. “We’ve had about a hundred other shoes drop on our way here. I think fate can hold off for the time being.”

Purdey shook her head in disbelief. “Now I know I’m hopelessly besotted.”

Gambit arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“You keep making good points,” Purdey elaborated, clamouring up so she could press her lips to his cheek. “And I keep agreeing with them without a fuss.”

Gambit’s eyebrows waggled ridiculously. “Ah, I’ve cast my spell, have I?”

“Yes. But then you’re also very good at breaking it,” Purdey pointed out wryly, taking in his expression. “Now, for example.”

“I’d better take emergency measures, then,” Gambit said solemnly, before capturing her mouth with his. His arms wrapped around her as he flipped them over, hips settling naturally between Purdey’s thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

They were seriously edging toward round two when the phone rang. Gambit emitted a groan that definitely wasn’t due to pleasure, and disentangled himself reluctantly, leaving a flushed, irritable Purdey in his wake. Gambit fumbled around for the receiver at the bedside before attempting to answer the phone in as natural a tone as possible. “Hello?”

“Gambit?” It was Steed, and Gambit said a quiet prayer of thanks that he’d made the extra effort to sound normal. Steed certainly wasn’t gullible enough to believe that Gambit breathing heavily with Purdey around was the result of them engaging in an impromptu relay race. “Where are you? You and Purdey were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

Gambit consulted the watch face on the inside of his wrist and cursed internally. “Sorry, Steed,” he apologised. “We stopped off at my flat to let Purdey get her car, and decided to have, uh, a snack while we were here.” His mouth curled into a smaile of its own accord as Purdey nudged up behind him and pressed a kiss to his neck. “You know how insatiable she is.”

“I’ve some idea.” Steed was sounding more relaxed now that he was assured of his colleague’s attention. “Get here as soon as you can. Everything else aside, it is audit season, and McKay wants it to be known that he runs a tight ship.”

“Audit?” Gambit’s brow furrowed, despite the delectable sensations Purdey was eliciting. “It can’t be November already?”

“It can and it is,” Steed confirmed. “Has been all week.” There was a pause, followed by an incredulous, mildly concerned, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I’ve been preoccupied,” Gambit confessed, chancing a rueful glance at the calendar on the occasional table, which he had forgotten to flip over in anticipation of bonfire night. He’d taken to a new method of keeping time as of late, his usual mental calendar instead monopolised by keeping track of how long it had been since he and Purdey had finally confessed their feelings, how many hours since their last liaison, how long until their next date. Everything could be measured in terms of Purdey and the moment she had welcomed him into her heart and her bed. As far as Gambit was concerned, life may as well have started then. “November,” he repeated thoughtfully to himself, feeling a familiar, far less pleasant, sensation instantly take form heavily in his stomach.

“Gambit?” He’d almost forgetten that Steed was still there. “Are you coming?”

“I think that’s down to me, isn’t it?” Purdey hissed playfully in his ear, hand sliding downward on a very pointed trajectory.

“We’ll be right there,” Gambit promised, jerking bodily away from Purdey, who recoiled in surprise. “See you soon, Steed.” He rang off and leapt off the bed like he’d been burned, hands darting to fix his trousers. Purdey watched him readjust his clothing in puzzlement.

“Mike, we still have a few minutes,” she protested as Gambit turned, and found her pouting delectably, blouse still gaping open in a tempting display that seconds before Gambit would have been powerless to resist. “I could have—"

“No time,” Gambit cut in hurriedly, hastily doing up his shirt buttons. “You heard the man. We’re already late. If we hang about any longer, we’re going to make him suspicious. And we don’t want to make Steed suspicious. You said so yourself.”

Purdey was nonplussed. “Yes, but really, Mike, I don’t think—"

“I’d better get a move on,” Gambit went on, as though he didn’t hear her, fixing his tie as he moved to the door. “I told Steed you were picking up your car, so you’ll have to drive yourself. I’ll see you there.”

Purdey looked both cross and flummoxed now. “Yes, all right, but Mike—"

But the door closed before she could finish, Gambit’s rocking steps retreating rapidly down the hall. Purdey was left sprawled on the bed, well and truly left in the lurch in every sense of the word. The entire scene had been very unlike Gambit, Purdey mused, as she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. At the same time, his point about not making Steed suspicious was in keeping with wanting to keep their secret—a secret that was being kept at her behest, Purdey reminded herself as she buttoned up her blouse. Maybe the call had just made Gambit nervous, she rationalised, standing up and pressing the button on the couch’s control panel, watching it roll into place as she fixed her hair and smoothed her skirt. That was probably why he was behaving oddly, she decided. 

Probably.

vvv

A few hours later, the scene was reversed, with Gambit the one ensconced in the flat, and Purdey the one using the door, albeit to enter rather than leave. She strode in without bothering to knock, or even uttering a greeting, but stalked straight over to where Gambit was packing a suitcase on the very couch they’d been lounging on so blissfully only a few hours before. “All right, Mike Gambit,” she began warningly, hands planted firmly on her hips. “What are you playing at?”

“Playing at?” Gambit’s expression when he turned to face her was the definition of inscrutable. “What do you mean?”

Purdey’s hands left their posts to allow one to tick off the fingers on the other. “You leap up and leave me mid-assignation, which you never do without good reason, and definitely not when we had time before our deadline. Then, when I get to the Ministry, you avoid me. And most unforgivably, once I finally manage to track Steed down, he tells me you’re going to Scotland! Today! Without bothering to tell me.”

“Steed sent me,” Gambit protested, one hand raised protectively as the other added a toothbrush to the case. “And I didn’t have time to tell you. I had to come home and pack.”

Purdey’s hands returned to her hips. “Steed said you volunteered,” she accused.

Gambit tossed a shirt into his suitcase with a sigh. “We pushed our luck, Purdey-girl,” he said grimly. “Steed knew there was something funny about our stop-off this morning. I needed to do something to throw him off the scent.”

Purdey bristled. “You don’t know what he was suspicious about. He wouldn’t necessarily think that we were sleeping together!”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He’s Steed,” Gambit said simply, tucking balled socks into the sides of the case with the economy of one who had spent more of his life living out of a suitcase than in any permanent lodgings. “If he’s suspicious at all, about anything, he’ll figure it out eventually.” He slanted a sceptical eyebrow at her. “Don’t tell me that when he saw you today, he didn’t give you one of those looks where his eyes went straight through to the back of your head?”

Purdey shifted uncomfortably. “Well…” she said lamely, trying not to think about how piercing Steed’s gaze had been when he’d asked what sort of snack had been irresistable enough to be worth the delay. Luckily, she had several answers to that particular question that didn’t only see use when she needed a quick cover story.

“There you have it,” Gambit said flatly, tamping down the case’s contents to prevent shutting the case on one of his shirt sleeves. “So, I thought it was time to take evasive action. Everyone knows the last thing I’d ever want to do if I was involved with you is take on a job that takes me away from you. So that’s what I did.”

Purdey pursed her lips. “This smacks of your ‘the only person who could be a sleeper is someone who couldn’t possibly be a sleeper’ reasoning,” she accused.

“Yes,” Gambit agreed, snapping his case shut. “And I was right then, too.”

Purdey’s hands dropped to her sides in surrender. “It might throw Steed off the scent,” she allowed, reluctantly. “But it also leaves me in the lurch. Without you, I’m going to have to work everything solo. Steed won’t bother pairing me with someone else if you’re only going to be gone a few days.”

“I know.” Gambit abandoned the case and moved to take her hands. “And I’m sorry about that.” He smiled apologetically. “But it’s only for a few days.”

“I suppose it might work out,” Purdey sighed, looking down at her hands in his. “I’ve fallen behind on things of late. Someone has been monopolising all of my attention.” She looked pointedly at Gambit. “I could use the time to put my affairs in order.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gambit said wryly, squeezing her hands. “You know I’m going to miss you, Purdey-girl. Desperately.”

“I should hope so,” Purdey said airily. “A girl likes to be missed. It means she isn’t being taken for granted.”

Gambit shook his head rapidly. “I never take you for granted,” he vowed in a voice that cracked, and Purdey thought his eyes looked too bright for a wistful goodbye. Those couldn’t be tears. Could they? She brushed the thought aside as her imagination—or her ego—running away with her. Gambit was a romantic, but he wasn’t prone to sobbing uncontrollably at the drop of a bowler hat.

“I’ll miss you, too,” she said softly, lest he think she didn’t. She’d played disinterested for so long that it had become second nature, and she still played it when she was teasing, but sometimes she had the sense that Gambit half-believed she meant it. Nearly two years of not knowing which way was up where she was concerned had left him with a propensity to be unsure of his ground, even at this late stage. She touched his cheek. “Mike Gambit, you brilliant, beautiful man.”

That seemed to break some reserve in Gambit, some intangible barrier that she’d sensed more than noticed the moment he’d taken Steed’s call, and he leaned forward, lips capturing hers in a passionate kiss that tingled, Purdey sensed, with the heartache of parting, and a need to take advantage of it, as if it would be the last time he could indulge for some time. She gave as good as she got, as determined to create a memory to carry her through as he was, hand still resting on his cheek. When she broke away, she was certain that his eyes, so close to hers, were, in fact, full of unshed tears. “You will call, won’t you?” she inquired, voice soft, reaching up to stroke his hair back from his forehead.

He nodded, ever-so-slightly. “Every day,” he promised hoarsely. “When I can manage it.”

Purdey smiled a little crookedly. “I know it’s your line, but I’ll look forward to it.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Gambit told her, breaking away reluctantly to retrieve his case. “You’re welcome to everything of mine.”

“All I need is you. You can keep your epic statuary,” Purdey teased, trying to lighten the mood even as her heart sank watching him go. She clung to his hand and extended her arm until his fingers slipped from hers. She watched him make his way to the door, before he turned to say farewell. She raised a hand and closed it. “Ciao.”

Gambit mirrored the gesture. “Ciao,” he echoed. And then he was gone.

vvv

Gambit, much to his own surprise, managed to make it all the way down to his car before the tears fell. He didn’t want to leave Purdey, and definitely didn’t want to lie to her, but he couldn’t put a brave front on for her, either. Not when he knew what was coming. He needed some space and time to work out what to do, without anyone asking awkward questions. And no one knew him well enough where he was going that they would notice or care that something was wrong.

Unlike…

When he was sure he could trust himself not to crash, he turned the key in the ignition and sped away.

vvv

Gambit kept his promise to call every day, although Purdey found herself carrying most of the conversation due to his weary, terse replies. She asked him more than once if he was feeling all right, but the answer was always a variation on having had a long day and working too hard. Purdey accepted it, as she’d accepted his reasons for leaving so abruptly after Steed’s call, and for taking the job. On the surface, they’d seemed like good reasons, even if it had all sat a bit uneasily in Purdey’s gut. But she had no concrete reason to think anything was amiss, so she let the matter lie, and carried on as best she could.

Until now, as she stepped out of the lift and made her way to Gambit’s flat, cursing herself. She should have seen through the excuses and the explanations and trusted her instincts when they told her that Gambit was behaving oddly. What sort of partner was she, overlooking his signs of distress? But then they’d already been through so much, and they were so happy, she hadn’t wanted to entertain the idea that there might be trouble afoot. She was going to rectify that now, she promised herself, though she was still none the wiser as to what awaited her in Gambit’s flat. The thought itself was enough to tie her stomach in knots.

It was for that reason that, when she opened Gambit’s flat door without knocking—she wasn’t certain she could bear it if she knocked and there was no answer--and slipped inside, she was quite relieved to find Gambit dressed in trousers and shirt sleeves, standing at the kitchen counter with his back to her, pouring himself a cup of coffee. From a distance, at least, he looked normal, and a quick glance around the flat showed no evidence of any sign of distress. She was so relieved, in fact, that she didn’t even bother to wonder why Gambit hadn’t heard her come in, or why he continued to remain oblivious to her presence as she crept up behind him, even though she’d never been able to sneak up on him before, much to her chagrin. Instead, she took advantage of her stealth the way she’d always meant to, and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Guess who?”

To her surprise, Gambit did not respond with a purposefully inaccurate guess as to her identity, but instead started violently, the coffee cup leaping from his grasp and smashing onto the countertop, sending brown liquid splashing everywhere. Gambit whirled around and Purdey was amazed to see fear in his eyes just before the flash of recognition.

“Purdey!” he exclaimed, trying to pull himself together and failing miserably. “You startled me.”

“So I gathered,” Purdey replied, taken aback at his skittishness. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Gambit said quickly, and unconvincingly, straightening his tie.

“You have coffee on your shirt,” Purdey observed, pointing to the brown spots that had splattered across his front when he dropped his cup. She reached for the dishcloth. “Let me.”

“No,” Gambit cut in hurriedly. “I’ll just change my shirt. Won’t take long.” He brushed past her before she could reply, making for the closet alcove between the living area and the bedroom, tugging at the buttons on his waistcoat as he went. He flung open the closet door, but Purdey’s sudden arrival had rattled his already-fragile composure, and even choosing from the row of shirts that met his eyes was painfully overwhelming to his addled brain, and he pinched his eyes shut as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him. His legs turned to jelly and he braced his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on solid ground, legs stretched out in front of him, the painted surface cool against the back of his skull. A moment later there were footsteps and Purdey appeared, kneeling before him, hands on either side of his face. A brief moment of déjà vu reached Gambit through the whooziness, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to try to remember the source. Not with Purdey looking at him like that.

“Mike,” Purdey said worriedly. “What’s wrong? Should I call a doctor?”

“No,” Gambit croaked, reaching up to weakly grasp her wrist. “No, I’ll be all right.”

“You don’t look all right,” Purdey said tartly as he struggled to his feet and took a breath. She couldn’t help but be uneasy about the way that Gambit was looking at her: carefully, with great precision, as though he were seeing her for the first time. She put her hands on her hips and stared back, waiting for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, the words “Mike Gambit…” spilled out almost automatically, following the standard script. But she never got any further than his name. Gambit closed the gap between them, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply. Purdey felt her hands curl around his neck instinctively as she returned the kiss, one of many that they had shared in the past two months. But this time it was different. This time his lips betrayed him. It was as though he was committing the moment to memory, wanted to take note of every sensation. When they finally parted, all she could manage was a breathless, “You’ve recovered nicely,” as his lips ventured over her face.

“I haven’t,” he corrected between kisses, arms still tight around her. 

Purdey felt the sense of unease settle back over her, frowned and pulled away. “What…? Mike, you’ve been acting oddly since Steed called you before you left. Steed sent me over here to drive you to work with an entirely unconvincing explanation. I hardly ate breakfast for worrying. There’s something going on, and I want you to tell me what it is.”

Gambit sighed and leaned back. Steed was right. He had to tell her. He should have told her a long time ago, but he hadn’t wanted to spoil things when they were going so well. There was no telling how she’d react, but he owed it to her to let her know. And he wanted to tell her. He always had. Because she was the only thing that made it better. And she was the best reason he had for overcoming it.

“First things first,” he started, shrugging his waistcoat off with a groan. He felt as though he’d aged a hundred years in the past few days. “Let me get changed.”

“Here,” Purdey offered, softening at his obvious discomfort, and tenderly started to unbutton his shirt before he could stop her. She managed halfway before Gambit shrank away, as though he’d been burned.

But as it turned out, not quickly enough.

“Mike!” Purdey cried in alarm, as the outline of a slightly-too-prominent rib was quickly concealed as Gambit tugged the two halves of his shirt together. “What’s happened? You look as though you’ve lost a stone at least.”

 _Well, that already hasn’t gone well._ Gambit pressed his hand over his eyes, the other still holding his shirt closed. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said bitterly.

Purdey looked stricken, paling before his eyes. “Mike,” she said in a hush, dismay contorting her features, “are you ill?” She pressed a diagnostic hand to his forehead, found it suddenly clammy, and felt her stomach churn. After everything they’d been through, all the ways Gambit had nearly met his end, all the possibilities her over-active imagination had dreamt up in her darkest moments regarding how he could potentially be killed in their perilous profession, it had never occurred to her that it might ultimately be something far less bombastic, far more sinister: illness. Perhaps in half a century’s time she could picture it, but the idea of the young, vital, athletic Mike Gambit she knew being felled by anything other than a bullet seemed inconceivable. Now she had the horrifying image in her brain of Gambit slowly fading away while she sat by, unable to do anything to change the outcome. Only hold his hand and try to keep a reassuring smile on her face for his sake.

All these thoughts flashed through Purdey’s mind as she stood there, hand pressed to the forehead of a peaked, emaciated (in her skittering brain) Gambit, until she felt sick at heart and threw her arms around him tightly. “Oh, Mike, why didn’t you tell me? How long have you known?” With her arms around him, she could not only see but feel that he was thinner, which only served to upset her further. This was what Steed had been trying to tell her, she surmised. That Gambit had received bad news on the health front. How unbearably cruel! “What did they say? Whatever it is, we’ll get a second opinion. They could be wrong. They could—"

“Purdey.” Gambit’s voice sounded weak and tired, but somehow he managed to conjure up the strength to disentangle himself sufficiently from her grasp to meet her eyes. “Purdey,” he repeated, a little firmer this time, trying to cut through her worried murmurings. “I’m not ill. At least, not physically.”

Purdey blinked up at him uncomprehendingly, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, not physically?”

“I’m not sick,” Gambit repeated patiently, still looking peaked, but he seemed to be trying to draw strength from whatever reserves he had. “I’m not dying.”

Purdey let out an audible sigh of relief as that information sunk in, and blinked the tears away, but she still looked worried. “But there is something wrong?” she deduced. Gambit nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed, taking a deep, shaky breath. “But I’d rather you didn’t see me like this before I could at least try to explain.”

“Thin?” Purdey asked gently, eyes darting fearfully to his still-covered frame in spite of herself. “Or upset?”

“Both,” Gambit confessed, scrubbing his face angrily with his hands. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, remembering Steed’s counsel that he was making the right decision. “Okay. There is something going on. Do you remember—last year around this time, we went to the disco and I got plastered and had a…breakdown, I guess you’d call it.”

Purdey smiled ruefully. “You wound up in the shower with all your clothes on, and I had to go in after you. It’s not the sort of thing a girl forgets.” 

“Well, I owe you,” he said sincerely, “for fishing me out.”

“It was a year ago tomorrow,” Purdey recalled quietly, eyes lighting up with anticipation. “Does this mean you’re finally going to tell me what it’s about?” she asked hopefully. “You did promise you would. Someday.”

Gambit nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to struggle to explain it to her, but then it was Purdey—of course she could put two and two together. “Yeah. It wasn’t the right time to tell you then. Or maybe I just didn’t have the nerve. But the way things are now…” He took her hand in his, squeezed it tight. “You deserve to know. I owe it to you.”

Purdey stroked his cheek. “You don’t owe me anything, Mike Gambit. But I am worried about you.”

“I know,” Gambit said softly. “But you have a right to know. Now. Before we go any farther, and end up with a couple of kids and a cottage in Wales.”

“Why not Scotland?” Purdey quipped, and Gambit couldn’t help but smile.

“I thought it didn’t balance.”

“Only on the maps,” Purdey clarified, then repeated thoughtfully. “A year ago tomorrow. An anniversary,” she concluded. “An unhappy one, evidently.”

“Yes,” Gambit confirmed. “An unhappy one.” He searched her face. “And it won’t be a pleasant tale to tell, for either of us.”

Purdey paled a little. “Then don’t tell me. If it’ll only make you worse--”

Gambit shook his head. “No, I need to tell you. I want to tell you. And if you’re honest, you want me to.” 

Purdey bit her lip. “I won’t deny it. I can’t help but want to know. I know Steed does. I’m sure that’s why he had me come here.”

“That bothers you, doesn’t it? That I told him and not you?”

“A little,” Purdey admitted. “I mean, I don’t want to push. You’ve always given me space. After Larry.” She saw Gambit grimace at the name, and moved on quickly. “What I don’t understand is why you felt you could confide in him and not me.”

Gambit sighed. “I probably wouldn’t have told him, either, but circumstances forced my hand.” He pulled her close and rested his chin on top of her head. “It was probably for the best in the end. Steed’s one of the few people out there who really understands these things. I was grateful for his help at the time, but it doesn’t mean I particularly enjoyed telling him about it. And I don’t think he enjoyed hearing it, either.”

Purdey ducked out from under his chin so she could meet his eyes. “And that’s why you don’t want to tell me.”

“Yeah. I don’t really enjoy putting people through it.” He smiled a little shakily. “Then again, I don’t enjoy it much either.” Purdey’s frown lines deepened, and he smiled encouragingly. “It’ll be all right,” he tried to reassure. “Knowing you, you’ll be more stoic about it than I am.”

“I don’t know. You’re not exactly prone to fainting fits,” Purdey countered. “But I’ll shore us both up, if need be.” 

“That wasn’t all. I—" He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know how you’d react, to be honest. If you’d look at me the same.”

Purdey shook her head firmly. “Mike, whatever it is, it won’t change what we have.”

“You don’t know that,” Gambit said bitterly, feeling his confidence ebb away. “You haven’t heard the story. And I don’t want to lose you over it.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Purdey said fiercely, putting both her hands on either side of Gambit’s head to force him to meet her eyes. “You don’t remember, but when we were in that shower I promised not to judge you. And I’ll tell you something else, Mike Gambit. Whatever it is, it’s part of who you are. And I love you. I _know_ you. And that won’t change. You’ll still be the same man after you’ve told me. I’ll just know a bit more about your past.”

“But—"

“Did you feel differently about me after I told you about Larry?” Purdey pressed. 

“No,” Gambit admitted, remembering Steed’s words. But Steed aside, he was well aware that he was going to lose against Purdey’s unshakeable convictions, and somehow glad for it.

“Then why would I feel any differently about you?” Purdey said with relentless logic.

“You’re right, I suppose,” Gambit murmured gratefully, happy to hear the words coming from her own lips this time. “But I wanted to get one last kiss before you started looking at me oddly.”

Purdey blinked in surprise. “Was that what that was for? I thought something seemed different. But I promise I’ll still feel the same after you’ve told me.”

“Same Purdey-girl?” Gambit wanted to know.

“Always,” she said firmly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “And I won’t hear any more about it.” She ran her thumb across his lips. “When do you want to tell me? Now?”

Gambit shook his head. “No. We’re due at the Ministry and there’s no time. I’ll tell you tonight.” He smiled wanly. “Sorry to keep you in suspense.”

“I can be very patient when I want to be,” Purdey declared, leaning forward and kissing his forehead. 

Gambit grinned in spite of himself. “That’s not what I heard.”

“Mike Gambit!” She slapped his arm playfully. “Come on. I’ll help you find a fresh shirt.”


	3. An Offer He Couldn't Refuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \----------------------

The end of the day arrived, and Purdey could tell Gambit was becoming progressively tireder, and more anxious, both about the evening itself and what it would bring. Whether it was the prospect of reliving his worst nightmare or trepidation at finally telling her his story that was worrying him more, she didn’t know, but the lines around his mouth were becoming more pronounced, the furrow in his brow was deepening with every frown, and the haunted look in his eyes was impossible to ignore. More than once she inquired subtly as to whether he ought to be at work, and if she should run him home, but the answer was always “no.” The mask would slip back into place, and he’d make more of an effort to seem cheerful and focussed, but it was painful for Purdey to watch him exert himself. Judging from the looks Steed wasn’t quite managing to conceal, he felt the same way.

The hours crawled by, and Purdey wasn’t certain how productive they were as a team, what with one member struggling with his own personal demons and the other two worried after him for doing the same. Purdey felt as though she was trapped in a time warp, willing the clock to move forward even as the hands seemed determined not to budge an inch. But finally, eventually, the late afternoon arrived, and Steed told them that there was little left to be accomplished for the day. “Why don’t we reconvene when we’ve all had a chance to rest?” Steed suggested, and Purdey knew that it wasn’t a coincidence that he phrased it that way rather than, “After we’ve all had a good night’s sleep?” She suspected he knew that Gambit would be sleeping very little, if at all, that night. “Gambit, if you’d like I can run you back to your flat. You could always leave your car here for the night.”

“That’s all right, Steed,” Purdey jumped in, saving Gambit from having to reject the offer. “I brought Gambit in my car, so I can take him back.”

Steed looked from Gambit to Purdey and back again, assessing the situation. He looked levelly at Gambit and said with feeling, “Gambit, I’ll understand if you don’t want to inconvenience Purdey.”

Steed was offering Gambit a way out, Gambit knew, just in case his counsel had been too forward and revealing all to Purdey that night was more than he could bear. Clearly he looked almost as bad as he felt if even Steed was starting to second-guess his own advice out of concern for his well-being. But Gambit had been heartened enough by Purdey’s reaction to his situation that he was ready to unburden himself to the most important woman in his life. “It’s okay, Steed. I don’t think Purdey will mind.”

The meaning behind his words was not lost on Steed, and Purdey knew the men were practising their particular brand of telepathy again. There was a moment when Purdey swore that Steed was rifling through Gambit’s thought processes like so many files down in the archives, searching for some elusive scrap of information that had fallen down the back of the filing cabinet. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it, and Steed smiled his beaming Steed smile. Purdey had surmised that he’d been hoping Gambit would finally confide in her, as evidenced by his cryptic call that morning, and he seemed genuinely pleased that things were unfolding as he’d planned. “Excellent. I’ll leave you in capable hands.”

“They ought to be. I’ve had enough practice,” Purdey quipped, lightening the mood and sending Steed chuckling. Even Gambit managed a wan smile.

“I’ll see you later then,” Steed told them, and bid them goodnight.

She waited until they were out in the corridor before she slipped her arm through Gambit’s, supporting him both physically and emotionally. “Come on,” she said gently. “I’ll take you home and we can face whatever this is together.”

Gambit could only nod, but she felt his arm tighten around hers.

vvv

They arrived at Gambit’s street, and Purdey guided her TR7 to park behind Gambit’s XJS and Range Rover, still standing guard awaiting their owner’s return. She turned off the ignition, sat back quietly, and switched on the overhead light. Gambit was sitting stock still and ramrod straight, complexion pale under the yellow-white glow. The unforgiving brightness of the overhead light near his cheek emphasised every contour and bone of his visage, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and lines around his mouth, the latter aging him noticeably. The other half of his face was cast in shadow, lending him an air of tortured mystery. Purdey didn’t know how much of her perception of his state of mind was due to her imagination running away with her, and how much of it was accurate, but as they sat in the darkened vehicle, a cone of light between them, his distress was impossible to ignore. He certainly hadn’t been in any shape to drive, that much was certain.

A few minutes passed. Gambit persisted in staring off into space, jaw tight. Purdey wasn’t even certain that he knew they’d stopped, and debated what to do next. She settled with covering his hand, tightly gripping the dash of the car, with her own. “We don’t have to go up,” she said quietly. 

Gambit started slightly, shook his head as if to clear it, and snapped out of his reverie, suddenly back in the present day. Clearly disoriented, it took him a moment to work out where he was and who he was with. He turned sharply to look at her, and his whole face was suddenly illuminated, the dark from within and outside temporarily banished. “What do you mean?” he asked belatedly, brain catching up on what had been said.

“We don’t have to go up,” Purdey repeated kindly, thumb gently caressing the back of his own hand. “I don’t know where you’d rather be, if anywhere else would be make it bearable. But we don’t have to go to your flat.” She shrugged, acknowledging that she didn’t have all the answers, but willing to make suggestions anway. “We could stay out all night and you could tell me your story over dinner or drinks or dancing. Maybe being around people would make it seem less difficult.”

Gambit shook his head again, this time in disagreement. “No, that only makes it worse. You remember when I took you out dancing last year, and how that turned out?”

“As I recall, we wound up in the shower together, so it wasn’t a complete disaster from your perspective,” Purdey pointed out with a cheeky smile. 

Gambit smiled faintly. “I don’t remember any of that because I’d had one over eight by that point. Wish I did. So much went wrong that night I could have used some happy memories.” His smile faded and his expression turned despondent. “But I was long-gone by then and that was because I couldn’t face that disco sober. Anywhere with people other than you around is guaranteed to make me feel the same way. And if I’m totally sloshed, I can’t tell my story.” He passed a hand over his face in exhaustion. “Not that it’s going to be much fun either way.”

“I’m not here for fun,” Purdey pointed out, taking the key out of the ignition. “I’m here to look after you, Mike Gambit, and I am not going to be put off by you getting drunk on alcohol or guilt. So if you’d rather do this in your flat, we may as well go up. Unless you want to risk us being arrested for public indecency when they misinterpret what we’re doing in this car.”

“I like that explanation better.” Gambit managed an eyebrow waggle in spite of himself. 

“I’m willing to be supportive, but you can only push the sympathy card so far tonight,” Purdey said pertly, but her eyes were dancing in a way that indicated she wasn’t entirely adverse to the idea when they were less preoccupied. 

Gambit sighed, somewhat theatrically. “No last request for the condemned man…” He looked up the building to where his darkened flat overlooked the street. “All right, let’s go,” he muttered resignedly. Purdey bit a lip as she watched him fumble with his safety belt with no small amount of concern. 

“Are you sure you want me there?” she pressed, second-guessing herself, concerned that her presence was going to prove more of a hindrance than a help, though she wasn’t sure she could leave him alone even if he wanted her to. “It’s not too late to back out. I won’t think less of you if you do.”

Gambit looked up from disentangling himself from the belt and shook his head. “No, this needs to be done. You deserve answers and I can’t keep this bottled up. Especially now that we’re together.”

Purdey bit her lip uncertainly. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“I am,” Gambit said forcefully, as though trying to convince himself as much as her. “I’m going to do this tonight.” He smiled a little crookedly. “Although you may wind up running in the opposite direction before it’s all over.”

“Not likely,” Purdey said brightly. “If you haven’t scared me away with your bad jokes, Mike Gambit, I doubt that you’ll be able to get rid of me now.”

Gambit’s laugh was shaky, but at least it was a laugh, and Purdey felt a modicum of relief that she could still get that sort of reaction from him at this point. She only hoped that she would still be able to do it after she descended into the heart of what was, presumably, the darkest chapter of Gambit’s life.

She opened her door and stepped onto the curb before they could talk themselves out of their newfound resolve, and took his arm as he rounded the car to step onto the pavement, for support in both the literal and figurative sense. They walked into the lobby of the building, and Purdey stroked his shoulder to try to ease the tension she could feel there as they waited for the lift. When it arrived and they stepped inside, Purdey knew she didn’t imagine the way he jumped slightly at the sound of the lift doors sliding closed. 

They were suddenly confined in a box—a cell in Gambit’s mind—and he felt his heartrate speed up, his breathing become laboured. Suddenly he was in the dark, alone, with sweat trickling down his face, and only the threat of pain to look forward to, to remind him that he was still alive and that this wasn’t all some hideous nightmare conjured up by his mind. 

The door to the lift opened with a ‘ding’ and Gambit stumbled out into the hallway, colliding haphazardly with the wall with a spectacular ‘thunk.’ He scrabbled frantically at the paintwork with his fingernails, seeking out the smooth texture of the surface that would prove to him that it wasn’t a concrete barrier, thick and suffocating, slick from the stifling heat.

“Mike!”

Purdey’s voice cut through the all-encompassing flashback, and he found himself pressed against the wall in the hallway, just to the left of the potted plant that was decidedly less than exotic. The hallway was brightly-lit and carpeted, and he could smell the faint of trace of perfume from someone who had passed through a few minutes earlier. He turned around and pressed his back to the wall, found Purdey looking back at him with obvious concern. Gambit, chest heaving and eyes wide, looked at her as if she were a particularly vivid mirage.

“Purdey?” He barely recognised his voice, it was so hoarse and raspy, more a wheeze than a proper vocalisation.

Purdey looked not just concerned now, but alarmed, as though she expected him to collapse or have a stroke at any moment. “Mike, you would tell me if you needed to go to the hospital...?” She edged closer, slowly, as though she was afraid of startling a skittish animal.

Gambit licked his lips, could taste the sweat that was coating his face. “I’m okay,” he murmured, even though it was patently clear he wasn’t. “I just—I had an—"

“Episode?” Purdey supplied, taking another step toward him and sending a tentative hand out to rest against his chest. She could feel his heart slamming violently beneath her palm. “That’s what you had a year ago, isn’t it? A sort of blackout. Flashback. Hallucinations.”

“Something like that,” Gambit confirmed, wishing he didn’t need Purdey’s hand against him to feel like he wasn’t going to pitch forward at any moment. “Things trigger them. Sounds, lights, sensations. I can’t control them or predict when they’ll come, but when they do…” He swallowed hard, the lingering sensation of the most recent flashback still making him tremble on the inside.

“Well, at least I know it wasn’t all down to drink last time,” Purdey quipped, slipping her arm under his shoulder and wrapping it firmly around his back. “But your neighbours might not be so forgiving, so let’s get you inside. I’m not letting you move in with me if your neighbours throw you out for total degeneration.”

“You always know just what to say,” Gambit rasped, suddenly feeling desperately thirsty, as though—well, as though he’d been locked in a hot, dark cell with the threat of pain and death forever pricking at the base of his neck. Somehow, Purdey and he managed to sway their way down the corridor, the slim blonde taking entirely more of his weight than anyone, barring him, would have thought possible. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached his front door, and Purdey fished idly in his pocket for his keys. Gambit, not in shape to appreciate being gently frisked by a beautiful woman, belatedly registered her hand’s intimate search of his outer and inner jacket pockets, and was just in time to feel her slender fingers slip into the left front pocket of his trousers. “You’ve gotten brazen,” he managed, a ghost of a smile twitching his lips. “I must be having a good influence on you.” 

“I prefer to think of it as ‘forward’,” Purdey corrected, breath tickling his ear as her fingers wriggled a little deeper into his trouser pocket. “And I was already corrupted before you came along. You’re just the first proper victim.”

“Either way, I’ll take it as a compliment,” Gambit hissed, as Purdey worked the keys back out and found the one they needed, slid it into the lock and pushed the door open. She helped Gambit inside, kicked the door shut behind her, and half-walked, half-dragged him to the bed. Ducking briefly while still supporting his weight, she managed to press the button on the control panel and sighed in relief as the mechanism rolled out Gambit’s automated bed. “Do you know,” she began, as the bed came to a stop with a satisfying ‘click’, “I used to think this bed was a ridiculous ‘boys and their toys’ novelty for people with more money than sense.”

“And now?” Gambit managed, as Purdey turned them around and started to lower him gently onto the mattress.

“Now I still think it’s that,” Purdey grunted with exertion, “but I’ve also come to appreciate that, on occasion, it has its uses. And this is one of those occasions. Oof.” She let Gambit’s arm fall heavily from her shoulders and sat back on her hands for a moment. Gambit, deprived of the support, flopped backward onto the bed with little grace and lay there pondering the ceiling with glazed over eyes. 

“Well, at least one of us has improved in your eyes.”

“Don’t be like that,” Purdey chastised, turning round so she could regard his prone form. “And don’t be stubborn, either. We don’t need to do this tonight. Whatever your story is, it’ll keep for a few days until you feel better. You don’t have to tell me tonight because you made some sort of ridiculous ‘honourable’ promise to yourself that you’d spill your heart and soul to me the moment I told you I loved you.”

Gambit shook his head mournfully. “I appreciate the ‘get out of jail free card’,” he told her. “But if I’m going to relive the whole damn thing through flashbacks, I might as well tell you while I’m at it. But you can always bolt back to your flat if I scare you witless.” He scrubbed his face angrily, but stopped when Purdey leant down very close to his face.

“I’ve already told you,” she said with mild annoyance. “Several times. But just in case it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull: whatever you tell me, it’s not going to change how I feel about you.”

“Oh, I love you,” Gambit almost prayed, and they kissed once, twice, three times, Purdey’s hands on either side of his face as she leaned over him, Gambit’s arms around her waist, clinging to her for dear life. 

“Come on,” she said when he finally broke away. “Let’s get you comfortable. Then you can tell me what all this about.”

They started by getting Gambit out of the most constrictive of his work clothes, so the jacket, waistcoat, tie, boots, and socks went by the wayside. Purdey kicked off her heels while she was depositing the extraneous wardrobe on a nearby chair, and Gambit undid his shirt cuffs with a fierceness that suggested the buttons were constricting him to the point of imprisonment. The fact that his hands were shaking didn’t make the task any easier for him.

“Right, what else do we need?” Purdey said as casually as possible, hoping he didn’t notice quite how worriedly she was looking at him as he struggled with the garment.

Gambit ran a hand through his hair, then looked to the bar. “Scotch,” he said wearily. “And a glass. Two if you’re joining me.”

Purdey bit her lip. “Won’t it defeat the purpose if you’re so drunk you pass out?”

“If I thought passing out would make a difference, I’d do it,” Gambit said flatly. “It doesn’t. Believe me, I’ve tried.” There was a defeated look in his eyes that made Purdey’s heart ache for him. “But I can numb it a little. Believe it or not, I’ll actually be a little more coherent if I’m not completely breaking down every few minutes.”

“Well, if it’ll make you coherent for a change,” Purdey tried to quip, but Gambit’s obvious despair meant her heart wasn’t in it, and he didn’t bother to respond. She fetched the Scotch without further comment, taking a glass for herself as well. She had a feeling she might need it.

They settled onto the bed, and Purdey poured them each a dram, trying to decide whether the glass rattling against the bottle was because she was shaking or he was. He pulled away with a wan smile before she could make up her mind, and took a healthy swing while she turned to set the bottle on the bedside table. She pressed the button that automatically closed the drapes and then turned back to Gambit. He was sitting crosslegged and barefoot on the bed, cradling the glass in his hand in the gap between his legs, looking for all the world like a storyteller from ancient times, the dim light of the bedside lamp taking on the quality of firelight. She folded her legs beneath her and propped her head up in one hand, elbow resting on the back of the couch, waiting for him to begin. “Where should I start?” he asked, half to himself and half to Purdey, eyes pointed squarely down at the amber liquid swirling in his glass.

Purdey shrugged. “Usually the best way to begin is at the beginning,” she pointed out, and Gambit nodded thoughtfully, as though this was sage advice. It was bad enough talking about it without getting the timeline mixed up in his mind and having to start over. He took a deep breath, and proceeded to do just that. 

“It was after I got tired of crashing cars…,” he began, then took one look at her blue eyes and felt himself waver, the prospect of actually getting started sapping some of his resolve. “Sorry,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Sorry. I’m faltering right out of the gate.”

“It’s all right,” Purdey soothed, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on his leg. “Take your time.”

Gambit nodded to himself, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to remind himself that they had all the time in the world, that the only one putting pressure on him was him. “Do you remember I told you that I left the navy at 21?”

“Of course.”

“Well, the reason I left was because I gave someone a ride in a borrowed car when I was on shore leave, and he said I ought to join the racing circuit.” He smiled to himself at his youthful hubris. “And for a young lad with more confidence than sense, it seemed like a good idea.”

Purdey smiled back. “But it didn’t prove very successful. All those crashes made an impact. Forgive the pun.”

Gambit grinned back, fully accepting the jibe. “Right, and I only played around with it for a few years. Around four, with other jobs in between to make up for my losses, before I gave the lot of it up. But that’s another story. The point is, the racing circuit takes you all over the world, and between that and my navy days I got pretty damn sick of globetrotting. So I decided to go home and stay put for a bit. And seeing as I was used to the military life, I signed up for the army.”

“When was this?” Purdey queried.

“1968,” Gambit supplied, turning thoughtful. “If I’d known then what I know now, I would have bought season’s tickets and spent a few evenings at the ballet. I regret never seeing you onstage.” He remembered Purdey’s balletic onstage defeat of Juventor, transplanted into the tap-dancing form of Ranson. “In an actual show, that is.”

Purdey blushed a little. “Might have kept me clear of Larry,” she conceded. “But you’ve gone and made it about me. Go on.”

Gambit sighed. “There isn’t too much to tell for the first two, two and a half, years. I got into the Paras as a low-ranking officer, spent my time climbing the ranks. I was still friendly with Spence and he taught me karate whenever I had the time. Looking back, I should have taken up his offer of a job at his dojo.” His mouth pursed grimly. “Or gotten out of the parachute regiment while the getting was good. But I was still young, and I had to be an idiot and show off, draw attention to myself.”

Purdey felt herself tense with curiosity and anticipation. “What happened?”

Gambit sank back into the couch, eyes looking heavenward. “I made a risky jump,” he explained. “No, stupid is more like. I delayed opening my chute for longer than recommended, and obviously I made it.” He smirked to himself. “Got me a lot of drinks at the pub afterwards, I can tell you. And I’ll admit, to this day I can remember that adrenaline rush, watching the ground rushing up at me. It’s a feeling you can’t describe or reproduce.”

“Although you seem intent on trying,” Purdey mentioned tiredly, “from the habit you make of jumping out windows.”

“That’s nothing,” Gambit said saucily, with a wink. “You should have seen me.”

“I have. I can imagine. What does this have to do with anything?”

“I got a call,” Gambit explained, “to meet with my commanding officer. At first, I thought he was going to ream me out for it, for doing this damnfool stunt on army time, and I was going to end up cleaning the lavatory with a toothbrush. But when I got there...”

***  
It was 1972. Major Michael Gambit, late of the parachute regiment, found himself knocking on the door of his superior officer, with more than a touch of trepidation. Their last exercise had gone off without a hitch, even if Gambit had pushed his luck a little. But he couldn’t think of any other reason he’d be disciplined, other than that practical joke in the canteen, but that had all been in good fun, and even Private Norris, the ‘victim’, had thought it was amusing once his heart slowed down. So when a voice from within told him to enter, he did so expecting a dressing down for his recklessness at the very least.

Said superior, Colonel Crichton, was a serious, solid man, forged in the aftermath of the war to do his duty to the best of his ability, and who expected others to do the same. He was a tough nut, but also fair, and Gambit respected that, as well as his straightforward unwillingness to cross the line from discipline to abuse, and his refusal to play mindgames with his troops. Crichton was a man who’d tell you like it was because he respected you enough to take it. So when Gambit entered the office to find Crichton looking very worried indeed, Gambit knew it was neither a ploy to put him off his guard, nor a case of the man letting his own personal problems spill into the professional arena. Rubbing his chin in thought, he nodded at the chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat, Major.”

“Yes, sir.” Gambit did as he was bid. “Something wrong, sir?”

Crichton’s hand dropped from his chin to a more familiar position, laced with his other hand on the desk’s surface. He regarded Gambit with guarded interest. “What makes you think there’s something wrong, Major?”

“Sorry, sir. Only I can’t think why else I’m here, sir.”

“Can’t you?” Crichton peered at Gambit from beneath his bushy eyebrows with an expression Gambit couldn’t quite decode. “So you assume the reason must be something unpleasant. Very pessimistic of you, Major.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Gambit said automatically, wondering if he’d only made things worse for himself. “Force of habit.”

vvvv

“Negative thinking,” Purdey surmised knowingly. “You haven’t changed.”

“He didn’t say I was wrong” Gambit pointed out, with a touch of his usual bravado.

“Oh? What did he say?” Purdey inquired, curiousity piqued.

vvv

“Never mind. Your instincts have served you well, Major,” Crichton said wearily, looking as though he would have preferred that Gambit be wrong than right at that particular moment. “As they always have. You’re my best man because of them, and therein lies the rub.”

Gambit cocked his head in bemusement, brow furrowed. “Sir?”

Crichton sighed. “A few months ago, I was contacted by certain individuals in the Ministry of Defence. High up sorts. Secretive. I don’t like associating with them if I can help it, to be quite honest, but I don’t have a choice in the matter. They were asking after the best men under my command, for their personnel files and the like. They didn’t tell me why or what they planned to do with them, but I had my instructions, so I gave them what they asked for. And one of the files was yours.”

Gambit sat up a little straighter, permitted himself a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Crichton raised an eyebrow. “For what, Major?”

Gambit felt his smile waver a little, wondering if he’d misread the situation and done something wrong. “For thinking so highly of me, sir,” he explained, hoping that he hadn’t escaped discipline only to earn a more severe punishment for being too proud of his accomplishments.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Crichton said darkly. “You don’t know why they wanted it.”

Gambit felt the cold knot in his stomach reemerge just as quickly as it had dissipated. “Why did they want it, sir?”

“They want you to work for them,” Crichton said grimly. “They’re sending a couple of fellows along later today. They’re going to offer you a new posting.”

vvv

“Two men showed up that afternoon,” Gambit told Purdey, just before he downed a healthy measure of the Scotch. “Ministry types, officious, gave me the salespitch about how they needed good men like me for a special assignment.”

Purdey pressed her lips together until they turned qhite. She’d heard that line before. “What sort of assignment?”

vvv

“Sit down, Major Gambit,” one of the men behind the desk told Gambit, with a sharpness that Crichton only deployed on special occasions.

“Yessir.” Gambit did as he was told, but kept his eyes on both men as he did so, as if they might lunge forward without warning at any moment.

“Forgive me, Major,” the man on the left, with silver hair that belied his youthful features, said with an oily smile that made the hair on Gambit’s neck stand on end. “Where are our manners? Let me make the introductions. Carpenter. Jeremy Carpenter. And this is my colleague, Gordon Thorburne. We’ve come to make you an offer.”

“What sort of offer, sir?” Gambit asked suspiciously.

“To work on a very special project, my boy,” Thorburne broke in, with a jocularity that felt forced. “Very secret. We’re choosing a few select men to try out for an elite unit, to be based overseas and assigned to execute operations of a highly sensitive nature.”

“And you want me, sir?” Gambit surmised, resisting the urge to leap out of the chair and make a run for it. There was something about the whole situation that smelled wrong, and Gambit’s instincts were screaming at him to get out while the getting was good. At the same time, the solider in him was telling him to sit tight. What would Critchton say if he turned tail and ran before these men had even finished making their pitch? Even if his superior was as unenthusiastic about these men from MOD as he’d led Gambit to believe he was, that didn’t mean he was going to tolerate outright insolence. Not to mention how poorly it would reflect on the man and his unit. Crichton was good to his men, and Gambit’s loyalty, once earned, was not easily shaken. If Crichton needed him to hear these men out, then hear them out Gambit would.

“We’d like to test you, Major,” Carpenter corrected, smile still unnerving, delighting in refuting Gambit’s assumption that he was good enough to be taken at face value. “You and a handful of other men, before we make our choice. But we’ve heard about your little, uh, stunt, and we think you’re perfectly suited for the sort of work that would be required.”

Gambit looked unimpressed. “Really, sir?”

“Yes. Men who are willing to take that extra leap into the unknown. There would be a chance to climb the ranks rather quickly, as well, if that may influence your decision at all,” Thorburne added, as though the prospect alone should have had Gambit champing at the bit.

“But if you’re not up to it, we understand,” Carpenter told Gambit smugly. “It’s not for everyone.”

“If I decide to try out,” Gambit asked carefully, “can I still back out, even if you choose me?”

“Of course,” Carpenter assured smoothly. “But once you accept the post—if you pass muster, that is—then you’re locked in. We do have to have some assurances that you aren’t going to go back on your word eventually. For planning purposes, you see.” The oily smile reappeared. “But of coure there’s no harm in simply trying out. None at all.”

Gambit worked his jaw a little, looking from one faux smile to the other, and seriously considered telling them both to stuff it. But Crichton would get an earful if he didn’t even try, he knew, and he wasn’t about to let him down. No one said he had to commit even if he got it. And there was no guarantee he’d even pass whatever tests the two men required. “All right, sir. I’ll give it a try.”

“Excellent,” Carpenter enthused with a glint in his eye that reminded Gambit uncomfortably of a fox eyeing a rabbit. “Really excellent.”

vvv

“Looking back, I should have just walked away, gone back to the Paras,” Gambit said bitterly. “But that would have looked bad on Crichton. And then they were so damn condescending, and I was curious. And egocentric. I wanted to prove I could do it, get into whatever it was that was so damned elite. Even if I didn’t really want to be there.”

Purdey scooted a bit closer, intrigued, drawn in by his tale. “I’ve a feeling this is where things start to get hot.”

Gambit nodded. “You’re right. They spent two weeks putting me and a handful of other men through our paces. Some of us were a little more leery about what they wanted us for, others were pretty gung-ho about the whole thing, but we were all determined to make the final cut.”

Purdey raised an eyebrow. “And you did?”

Gambit smirked ruefully. “I was the best of the whole damn unit. Or cell. That’d probably be the better word for it.”

Purdey felt her heart stop at the word choice. “Cell?” she asked tentatively.

Gambit took a deep breath, rubbed his palms on his trousers anxiously, trying to wipe the beads of sweat away before they could form. “This is where things get a bit…uncomfortable,” he said hesitantly.

Purdey reached out a hand and placed it on his leg encouragingly. “I stand by what I said. Whatever it is, it’s not going to drive me away. Do you need a moment?”

“No, no, let’s get it over with,” Gambit replied, blue-green eyes distant. “They told me, Thorburne and Carpenter…”

Vvv 

“You’ve performed very well, Major,” Thorburne enthused, beaming at the young soldier. “Even better than we expected. Isn’t that so, Carpenter?”

Carpenter smiled, but the words came out as more of a sneer. “Yes. Very impressive. So impressive, in fact, that you’ve passed muster. We’ve selected you for the team.”

Gambit didn’t bat an eye, instead levelled his gaze at his audience of two, far from exuberant. “Wonderful. Only I’m not accepting anything until I know what it’s all about.”

“Indeed not, my dear chap,” Thorburne agreed, in that earnest way that Gambit had already pinned down as a sure sign that he was trying too hard. “We’d expect nothing less. However, what we say will have to remain within these walls. And of course, we can’t disclose everything until you’ve fully committed to the operation, even though you’ve signed all the requisite forms. I’m sure you understand.”

Gambit smiled knowingly. “Otherwise you’d have to kill me,” he quipped. 

Carpenter’s lips twitched in a way that Gambit sensed meant his words were a little too close to the truth for his liking, but Thorburne simply laughed his painfully jocular laugh. “Ah, indeed, Major, indeed! A good sense of humour is very important. Keeps one sane, as it were.”

“Hmm,” was Carpenter’s only comment on the matter as he leaned toward Gambit. “Here’s an overview. We’re going to establish a small team, a unit—or cell, if you will—in Africa, with the express purpose of dealing with certain persons. Criminals would be a generous description, people with connections. We need them taken care of, quietly, before they can do any more damage. And without anyone being able to trace those activities back to us.”

“Dealing meaning killing?” Gambit asked flatly, not bothering to conceal the menace leaking into his voice. “You want us to be assassins? That’s what this all about?”

“Heavens, no,” Thorburne exclaimed, as though the mere use of the word had offended his sensibilities. “Normally you’ll be called upon to simply persuade or meet with these persons. Negotiate deals. Make them come around to our way of thinking. Sometimes you will be required to capture certain individuals or acquire their assets.” He cleared his throat, and sat up a little straighter in his chair, as though good posture would somehow disguise the murkiness of what he was about to say. “Naturally, there is the risk of having to use lethal force in any security operation, but it would always be a last resort, not the sole purpose of the assignment.”

“What makes you think I’ve got any interest in killing people, whatever the reason?” Gambit snapped, outraged.

“A sense of justice, my boy,” Thorburne broke in, rifling through a file laid out on the desk in front of him, one that Gambit knew likely contained his entire life, parsed into bite-sized snippets for easily-digestable reading. “You’ve gotten yourself involved in your fair of scuffles, often against enemies who were rather out of your league, because you saw a wrong being perpetuated, and you knew it needed to be righted. In every instance, you’ve met with remarkable success. We only want you to take that innate instinct for doing the right thing one step further, use it to help you deal with unsavoury characters that pose a threat to Britain’s, and the world’s, affairs.”

“You’ve got it partly right,” Gambit growled, leaning forward in his chair, stabbing the desk’s surface with an index finger. He was undoubtedly out of line, but he didn’t care. If Crichton wanted to punish him, he’d take it happily. But he wasn’t going to sit quietly by while these men sat there and patted him on the head, saying that he should be happy to do a little light murdering for them just because they’d asked nicely. “But it’s one thing to help someone who’s caught up in a fight that he didn’t pick. It’s quite another to put a bullet in someone’s brain in cold blood.” He got to his feet, stared imperiously down at the two men. “You can keep your offer. I’m staying where I am.” With that, he turned smartly on his heel, and strode purposefully toward the door. His hand was on the knob, seconds from escape, when a soft cough stopped him in his tracks.

“I take your point, Major,” Carpenter said mildly, and Gambit didn’t have to turn around to picture the man casually shuffling papers while he practiced the slightly shady art of rhetoric. “But there’s something else about you that makes me think you’ll accept this offer. You now know what will happen if you go. But has it occurred to you what might happen if you don’t go?” Gambit felt himself stiffen, felt a cold grue travel down his spine. “We’ll do our best to keep things from becoming unsavoury, of course. But we can only control so much of what goes on in the field when we’re not on the same continent as the action. If things spiral out of control, well, I’m afraid our hands are tied.” He paused meaningfully, allowing his words to sink in. Gambit stood there, jaw working madly, as he listened to more papers being shuffled, heard the warble of thick card as a file was gently closed. “Of course, if someone were there, in the field,” Carpenter continued leisurely, with all the studied indifference of a big cat deciding whether or not it was worth expending the energy required to pounce on a passing antelope. “Someone with the moral turpitude to anticipate the slide, head it off before it could devolve into something unsavoury, well, that would be different, wouldn’t it?” Gambit turned, only to be met with another version of Carpenter’s oily smile, this one painfully knowing. “All things considered, Major Gambit, I think you might want to reconsider your answer. It might not be your cup of tea, but can you make yourself walk away in good conscience?” The smile broadened as the dismay that failed to crinkle Gambit’s mouth surfaced in his eyes. “I think you’re going to want to go, if only to ensure that things are happening by the book, that the cell doesn’t devolve into an arbitrary killing machine. Just to keep it in line, you’ll go. To keep it decent.”

Gambit swallowed. Carpenter leaned back smugly, knowing he’d trumped Gambit’s ace soundly.

“Well, Major?”


	4. Terrible Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same Time Next Year
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \-----------------------------

"Oh, Mike." The words left Purdey's lips in an unhappy hush, even as he averted his haunted eyes to avoid meeting her gaze. "He was right, wasn't he? He pegged you as the self-sacrificing idiot you are, and he played you like the proverbial violin."

"Am I that transparent?" Gambit sighed, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly, still not looking her in the eye.

Purdey smiled crookedly, rested a hand on his shoulder to encourage him to look at her to see her reaction. "There's nothing wrong with trying to be a moral compass," she pointed out. "It's made you a good agent." The smile disappeared. "But it came at a price. Even I've pieced together that much."

"It did," Gambit agreed bitterly. He let out a long breath through his nose. "But it was more than that. I joined the army after I quit motor racing partly because I didn't know what to do with myself, and partly because I needed to scrape a living somehow. I knew it'd pay better than manual labour, which was all I'd be able to get since I left school so young. But aside from all that, I thought it'd be nice to join up with something that was making a difference somehow. The way I thought I could when I joined the Ministry and started working with Steed. So even though I didn't trust those MOD types, I agreed to it because I thought I could do something worthwhile, either through the assignments, which, against my better judgment, I hoped were going to be as worthy as they kept insisting, or by keeping the whole operation from going over the line if they weren't." He shook his head sadly. "I still held out hope even after I'd signed up, and they started teaching us new skills that went beyond our training. New ways to kill, to disarm, to extract information. All of it. They always said that it would be used as a last resort, that we needed to know these things for our own safety. And then they shipped Major Gambit and his crew out, me and five others, to Africa, to do their dirty work."

Purdey was holding her breath so tightly she could barely get the words out. "What kind of job was it, really?"

Gambit's entire expression turned dark. "They had a name for us. 'Special Undercover Operatives: Military'. But what it really boiled down to was government-sanctioned mercenaries. They started us out slow, with easy, unobjectionable stuff—picking people up, espionage, sometimes making an arrest. The stuff they'd promised me we'd be doing. But after a month or two, they started to feed us targets and we were supposed to follow orders, no questions asked. And in-between, we were supposed to pick up side work, legitimate contracts in the local area, so it'd look like we were being hired and paid by whatever local criminal underground was in the area, and no one would ever suspect our people ever had a hand in picking some of the targets. Diplomatically, they couldn't point fingers if they traced a killing or capture back to us, because who was to say it wasn't some other unsavoury character that wanted him disappeared. Nice set-up for them, but on the ground, immersed in it…" Gambit shuddered, and Purdey could feel the nightmares emanating from his trembling body, physical manifestations of old, traumatic memories. He took another, desperate drink of the Scotch, then held out his glass with a shaking hand. Purdey refilled it without comment, sensing that to interrupt now would only make it harder for him to continue. He took another long drink, a bit more calmly this time, and after taking a moment, composed himself.

"They'd send me to kill people," he said flatly, the words blunt and harsh, bitten off with undisguised disgust. "They'd never phrase it that way, of course. There were never explicit kill orders, because those would be too hard to deny if they got into the wrong hands. But they'd put me in lots of hairy situations where they figured it'd be too hard, and would draw too much attention, to do anything but kill them." His face split into a perverse grin. "Or so they thought. But I saw it as an opportunity to get creative."

"Creative?" Purdey echoed, eyebrow quirking inquisitively, but she was encouraged by the mischievous gleam in Gambit's eye.

"Well, they did say, 'by any means necessary'," Gambit reminded, using that overly-reasonable tone he reserved for poking fun at the officious. "They never said I actually had to kill anyone, remember. That was the point of giving ambiguous orders that couldn't come back to bite them. So I found ways to achieve the same ends, but by different means. Gather the right evidence, grease the right palms, maybe incapacitate them a bit in they kicked up a fuss. But I'd get them locked up, charged, sent back home to face the music—anything that'd put them out of action without killing them."

"Two fingers to authority," Purdey marvelled, shaking her head in undisguised admiration. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Yeah," Gambit agreed with a chuckle, as pleased with himself as she was. "That was the fun part of the job. The good bit." His smile faded as a new thought occurred to him, replacing the cockiness as quickly as it had arrived. "Too bad it didn't last."

Purdey felt her stomach twist. "What happened?"

"They started to get creative, too," Gambit said bitterly. "And even worse, they worked out my weakness. They knew they couldn't bribe me. I wasn't interested in killing for its own sake. I wasn't going to blindly follow orders for the reward of their approval. But they did work out that I wouldn't let other people get hurt."

Purdey pursed her lips. "You mean they hadn't forgotten you were a self-sacrificing idiot in the intervening months."

It was a testament to how upset Gambit was that he only nodded in acknowledgement of the description, not even offering a smart retort in reply. "So they started to put me in situations where the choice was kill or someone else got hurt, or died. Someone innocent. That was bad enough, those split-second decisions where you can't hesitate or it's too late. But then, once or twice, they put me in the middle of things that were so awful, and the people who were doing it were so awful…" He shook his head, in a mixture of self-reproach and anger at his handlers. "I still wonder if I could have avoided it-if I really tried, if I could have found a way out of it that didn't involve death, if I'd only tried hard enough." His head dropped in shame. "But I didn't. And I killed them." He said it so bluntly, so flatly, it took Purdey a moment to register what he was saying, to let it sink in. "In hot blood, as my Granny would say." His eyes were bleak now, just visible beneath the lids as he bowed his head. "I won't lie. Those people—all of them, every last one—deserved to face justice. They were all so evil, so sadistic... But to kill in hot blood—even if they're morally bankrupt, even if they've killed dozens of people the same way—it does something to you. You learn to switch off, you learn to not feel, to suppress all your emotions. You have to, or you'll go mad. But it's not any way to live. Even if it only happens once or twice." He took a shaky breath, held back tears that he didn't want to shed. "And I was good at it. I could do it, do it well. I don't what that says about me. I didn't enjoy it, and I tried to do it as little as possible, but…" He clutched at his head, ran a hand through his hair frantically, anxiously. "But I could do it when I needed to. Those are the ones that haunt me the most, because it does something to you. But what makes it worse is that I could do it again, under the right circumstances." He pressed his lips tightly together. "And I don't know what that makes me."

"Brazil," Purdey breathed, flashing back to a dark night in the Amazon jungle, where sweat made the gun slippery in her grasp as she pointed it at Pym, the man who had killed her father, while Gambit stood by and pleaded with her, describing in gruesome detail what would happen to her if she pulled the trigger. She'd been in such a fog of rage that she'd hardly registered that Gambit could only be speaking from personal experience. "That's what you were talking about."

Gambit nodded in confirmation, swallowed hard. Purdey reached out and put her hand under his chin, turned his head to face her. "I've seen you kill people," she reminded, allowing a little annoyance to slip into her voice at the mere notion that she was too fragile to cope with this revelation. "You've seen me do the same. Don't look as though you're introducing me to some dark world I've never been exposed to. I've had some idea for ages now that you didn't learn this business entirely from your Ministry training. You knew too much for someone who'd only come onboard two years before me."

"Yeah, but this was worse," Gambit said hoarsely. "It was…deliberate."

Purdey set her glass down on the bedside table and held his face more firmly. "Listen to me, Mike Gambit," she said, quietly but in a tone that brooked no argument. "I was quite prepared to do the same, if you'll recall. In Brazil. I would've shot and killed Pym without a second thought. And we'd already captured him. He wasn't going to hurt anyone else. But that didn't matter. All I wanted was revenge. And the only thing that stopped me was you. But you didn't have someone there to help you." She pressed a hand to Gambit's cheek, raised his head to look in her eyes. "We all have our line in the sand, Mike. And I've always admired the clear-eyed way you've drawn yours. You've never killed or hurt anyone for the sake of it. You've never taken any pleasure from it. But when there are terrible people who have done terrible things, and there isn't any other way to stop them, you've always done what needs to be done without hesitation. It's what makes you such a good agent.

"What happened there, in Africa, is no different. You did everything you could to avoid what they were trying to force you to do, even when faced with something so awful that I can't even imagine, and no options to speak of. All after having been put through so much by your own side, so much pressure, so many awful sights, none of which you'd signed up for. I think anyone would pull the trigger." She smiled reassuringly at Gambit. "I know I would, under the same circumstances. I definitely would if it whoever it was had done something to someone I cared about. Like you. Or Steed. Just the way you and Steed said you would if I'd died of curare poisoning. And I can't even claim your Irish granny's hot blood. Mine would be ice cold."

"But…"

"No 'buts'. I know you, Mike Gambit. I've seen you on the job, and I know that you kill because the job requires it," she plowed on, refusing to let him slip further into the darkness. "We all do. We all switch off, me included. The point is, you do it for the right reasons, when it has to be done. I know you'd never kill anyone if you had a choice, a real choice. But you didn't have a choice. They took that from you by putting you in impossible situations and I don't think any less of you for it, do you understand? I know you. And I know that you wouldn't have completed any of those assignments if they weren't for the greater good, orders or not." She shook him slightly, forced him to look at her. "You're a good man," she said firmly. "And I won't have you thinking otherwise for a moment. I wouldn't be here if I thought you weren't."

Gambit was eyeing her hopefully from the depths of his despair. "So you don't think I'm terrible?"

Purdey stroked his cheek. "I think you're a very, very good man, who holds himself to an impossibly high standard, even when circumstances not of your making dictates otherwise." She brushed away a bead of sweat trickling down his brow. "Even you'll crack under the strain eventually, Mike. They were trying to break your nerve, and I think you have to allow yourself some leeway after being put under such extreme pressure. You've convinced yourself that you're not allowed to be human. But you are. And you're not omnipotent. You keep thinking there must have been a way out that you hadn't thought of. But I've seen you at work, and I don't believe for a moment that there was one. I think you're looking back with typical Mike Gambit self-effacement and convincing yourself that the entire situation was down to you. But it wasn't. You did what needed to be done. The fact that your blood was boiling doesn't change that."

Gambit looked unbelievably hopeful now, eyes bright with cautious optimism. "Do you really think so?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Purdey smiled away his fears. "I know so," she said softly, simply, but with great conviction. "And you know I always speak my mind, Mike Gambit. I wouldn't say it if I didn't think it was true."

"Thank goodness for that," Gambit said in a rush, clutching at her hand on his cheek, clasping it like the lifeline it was. "Oh, Purdey, Purdey, what would I do without you?"

"I think it's best not to think of that now," Purdey said gently. "You've gone through enough as it is. You need to rest now."

Much to her horror, Gambit's eyes took on a pained expression. "I can't rest," he told her woefully. "I haven't finished telling you my story."

Purdey, who had only just begun to feel her insides uncoil from the knots they'd tied themselves into, instantly felt them wind themselves into a sailor's knot that even an ex-Navy man like Gambit would have been hard-pressed to unravel. "You mean, that wasn't the worst part?"

Gambit shook his head like a small child who was afraid to make a sound lest it earn him a clip round the ear. "No," he confirmed hoarsely, adding still more knots to Purdey's innards. "That's only the beginning."

"Oh," Purdey said faintly, feeling a bit overwhelmed. She'd been congratulating herself at having done so well at setting all Gambit's fears to rest. Now she realised she'd only dealt with the preliminaries. But this wasn't about her ego. So she squared her shoulders and looked levelly at her partner. "All right," she said smartly, determined that Gambit wasn't going to faze her for long. "Shall I get something to grease the wheels for part two?"

"No," Gambit said quickly, catching her hand before she could move away. "No, please. Just—do you need it? Because I think I need you more."

"I was offering more for you than me," Purdey soothed, adding her other hand to the one already being clutched in his fingers. "Of course. I won't leave you." She smiled to let him know she meant it. "What happened next? I'm ready."

Gambit took a deep, cleansing breath, steadying himself to embark on the next chapter of his journey. "I got caught," he said hoarsely. "And that's where the real nightmares come in. That's why I have flashbacks, the hallucinations, can't sleep." He stared intently into Purdey's eyes. "Today's the anniversary of the day I got caught."

"Caught?" Purdey felt an awful chill sink into her bones at the words. "What do you mean, caught? Caught by whom?"

"Her," Gambit replied forebodingly, but then seemed to realise that this information was less-than-helpful. "It was my last-ever assignment for that unit—or at least I was hoping it was. I'd started making noises about wanting out, and I don't think they could have fobbed me off forever. I'd been making a pest of myself and I think they might have let me go eventually. But first I was supposed to get these papers off a man called Solomon, a local crimelord. Looking back, that was a strange assignment right from the off—asking me to get intel instead of bring someone in…" Gambit shook his head in self-recrimination. "I wish I'd been able to find a way out of it. Would have saved me a lot of trouble." He smiled ruefully at Purdey. "But I ended up here with you, so it worked out in the end, eh?"

Purdey smiled fondly back. "Well done," she praised. "Some positive thinking for once."

Gambit seemed to physically take strength from the compliment, and the sustenance it gave his soul reinvigorated his flagging spirit, pushing him to resume his story. "Anyway, I got the assignment and I didn't have much choice but to do it. They could make our lives damned difficult for us if we didn't. I packed some supplies and set off around noon. Solomon had a compound in the jungle, secluded, secret, to keep him from being caught by the authorities—at least, the ones he couldn't pay off. I knew him by reputation and I'd tangled with some of his people in the past, but going into the heart of his operation wasn't something I was particularly looking forward to…"

vvv

Gambit crept through the jungle brush in the dying light of the day. He knew he'd have to approach the compound in the evening if he was going to have any chance of slipping inside undetected. Dark as it was, he knew the chance of discovery was still high. He'd prepared as best he could, studied the plans that were available for the compound, gleaned as much information as he could from the locals and his fellow operatives, but it still wasn't enough. Everyone in the surrounding cities and villages knew about Solomon now, but no one wanted to talk about him, lest word somehow got back to him that they had been the one to spill the beans, and they had their blood spilt next. His colleagues were more forthcoming, of course, but even what they knew had been heard secondhand, filtered through rumour and insinuation. Solomon was feared, but flew under the radar, preferring to conduct his dealings while attracting as little attention as possible, letting the rumour mill build his reputation up through silence and invisibility rather than feed it with grandiose displays of power and cruelty.

One aspect of his operation that didn't confine itself to the shadows was Solomon's right hand—a woman, by all accounts, and a fierce one at that. When Solomon made his presence felt the most explicitly, it was most often through her, and Gambit knew that she was the prime suspect in the deaths of at least two fellow operatives who had met their ends in suspicious circumstances. Gambit had seen their bodies after the fact and could still remember the way his gut twisted in repulsion and horror. Above all else, he didn't want to cross paths with the woman who trailed death and pain in her wake. He'd asked his superiors for a briefing on her, in hopes of finding something, anything that might give him the upper hand, should he need it. The dossier he'd received back was less than encouraging.

The woman in question was known as Vanessa Thyme, though whether that was her real name or an adopted alias no one knew for sure, nor was there any clarity on her past life, including her nation of origin, her accent drifting between British, South African, and generic trans-Atlantic. By all accounts, she'd worked for several employers in her extensive career, during which time she'd acquired an impressive resume and a skillset to match before being recruited by Solomon, who presumably had earned her loyalty by paying better than the last person she'd worked for.

All of this was running through Gambit's mind as he scoped out the compound from the safety of the undergrowth. The buildings were cordoned off by a high chainlink fence topped with razor wire which was, by all accounts, electrified. There was also a regular patrol circling the compound, and more men were posted on the front gate-all armed guards on the lookout for any suspicious activity. Gambit had no doubt the gates were alarmed, too, though no one had mentioned it. Presumably the chances of being shot, electrocuted, or sliced to ribbons first were so high, no one had bothered to worry about simply causing a ruckus. But all that only mattered if you got caught or touched the fence, and Gambit wasn't planning on doing either.

He spent some time watching the guards on patrol, timing the regularity of their rounds, how frequently they were relieved, and when their routes intersected, ensuring that the guards weren't liable to stray unexpectedly from where they should have been. But whatever their other sins, which Gambit could safely presume were many, the guards kept to their schedule, and their route. So when Gambit identified a sufficiently large gap in their patrol for his purposes, he abandoned his hiding place and took off at a run, building up the speed that he knew he'd need to vault over the fence and praying that it would be enough.

Almost everyone he'd talked to had been of the opinion that there was no way of mounting the fence without some sort of climbing aid, but Gambit knew that was a non-starter. It would be cumbersome to carry, and act as a rather obvious giveaway that someone was breaking in when it was inevitably spotted, because there was nothing to be done but to leave it behind once one was inside. So Gambit had decided that he would have to try something else.

The answer came from his karate training, as it so often did. Spence had always been encouraging him to learn how to not only increase his power of forward propulsion, but how to channel it upward as well. Defying gravity was an essential aspect of some attack combos, but when utilised for its own sake, without the need to set up an attack, it freed up more resources to get airborne. The fence was high, but not that high. If a gymnast could vault upwards so spectacularly under nothing but his own steam, then it had to be possible for him to do it too. And there was enough overlap between the disciplines that Gambit had thought it was worth a try.

He'd practised as much as he'd been able given the narrow window he'd had between being assigned his task and having to put his plan into action. Somewhere out there was a clutch of very confused wildlife who had borne witness to a south London lad's seemingly-indefatigable quest to surmount a hastily-constructed barrier, a task at which he failed more often that succeeded, all the while making extensive use of a vocabulary that only an ex-sailor would possess. Why he hadn't just walked around the thing was a mystery to them, but then all humans seemed determined to make life hard for themselves, at least in their experience.

Gambit had managed to get over that wall in the end. Not always, but often enough that he thought he could make it over. Probably. Maybe. If he was lucky.

As Gambit approached the point at which he'd have to lift off, he knew he needed to be lucky now. If not, he was going to find out firsthand just how good Solomon's security system was. Maybe his colleagues would glean some useful intel when they retrieved his mangled corpse. If there was anything left to retrieve.

These thoughts weren't helping, and Gambit shut them away, compartmentalised them, along with the ache from all the bruises he'd acquired; and the hope that this assignment would be the end of the whole damned ordeal; and the closeness of the heat; and, most of all, the burning desire in his heart to go home, a yearning he'd never felt quite so strongly, in all his years of globetrotting.

Please let this work. Let me go home.

He left the ground and, despite the advantageous lack of witnesses, it was a shame that no one was around to admire the grace and athleticism at work as Gambit twisted, tucked, and soared over the top of the fence, missing the barbed wire by a fraction of an inch, before hitting the ground in a roll and popping upright once more. He stood still for a fraction of a second, dumbstruck that his audacious plan had actually worked, but there was no time for self-congratulation. After a quick sprint, he darted around the corner of the nearest building before the next patrol had rounded the fence and had an eyeline on where he'd just been.

Safe for the moment, Gambit did a mental sweep of the compound's layout and his current location in it, based on the plans he'd consulted. His cover was a small storage unit, containing weapons and ammunition. Ahead stood a larger unit that was Solomon's people's quarters when they were onsite. There was also a garage and another squat concrete block with no windows to speak of and heavily barricaded doors. Gambit's research had told him it held cells, reserved accommodation for those who were foolish enough to tangle with Solomon and think they could get away with it. As Gambit looked at it, he felt a terrible sense of dread and foreboding. He looked away quickly before the shivers down his spine could get any worse.

The focus of his quest was another building entirely. It was the building at the heart of the compound, a large, well-appointed house that served as Solomon's abode, centre of operations, and vault. It was the latter function that held Gambit's interest, the place where the papers he was supposed to retrieve would be kept. Security was tight, but not as tight as on the perimeter. Solomon obviously didn't believe that anyone would be able to breach the outer walls of his sanctum without being detected. Gambit took a quick look around at his surroundings, and then made tracks for the base.

As he got close, he realised how incongruous the house looked, surrounded by quasi-military buildings on all sides and enveloped in the wilds of the African jungle. Three stories high and done in a Victorian architectural style, it was spectacularly out of place, juxtaposed as it was by the jungle wildness and the militaresque brutality of the accompanying buildings. Gambit idly wondered if the aesthetics of his grounds were contributing to the man's anti-social tendencies.

The house had several well-appointed windows, and Gambit surveyed them for a likely point of entry. It took two circuits before he settled on an unassuming small window a few feet off the ground. Without hesitation, Gambit took hold of the windowsill and gently inserted an instrument into the bottom of the frame, expertly working the lock until he heard a click, keeping a watchful eye out for any unexpected visitors. He slid the now-unlocked window open silently, then hiked himself up onto the sill and over. His head and shoulders were barely inside when some sixth sense told him to stop. For a moment he hung there, suspended half in, half out of the window, arms straining with the effort of keeping still. It was then that he saw the tripwire, razorthin, stretched in front of the window, just waiting to alert the whole of the base to his presence. Gambit withdrew, dropped back onto the ground and considered his options. In the end, he leapt up, slid in a short distance, gripped the upper inside of the windowsill, and turned himself bodily around so he was moving through the opening on his back. Before he hit the tripwire he sat upright, pulling his body through the opening while keeping it tight to the window, almost climbing up the wall until he was upright, standing on the narrow window ledge. Gripping the ledge tightly with both hands, Gambit let his feet slip off the ledge and dangle, before letting himself fall lightly to the ground, arms and legs welded tightly to his body, making himself as slim as possible. It was then a matter of a few moments to carefully turn around and duck under the tripwire. Gambit breathed a sigh of relief. He was inside.

The next task was to locate where the papers were hidden. In keeping with the house's exterior, the interior was also done up like an English Victorian home. Gambit had infiltrated a small parlour/reading room, but intel suggested that Solomon had an office somewhere, and chances were that was where he'd keep the papers until he sold them to the highest bidder.

Gambit made his way carefully across the room, ever-vigilant for further traps or other signs of security, but found none. He made it to the door without incident, tried the knob and found it turned easily and silently. He swung it open a crack and peered through into the hallway, seeking out any and all signs of life, but the corridor was abandoned. Satisfied he was alone, Gambit slipped out into the carpeted space, closing the door softly behind him. He crept as quickly and quietly as he could in his army boots, thinking back to the speculative plans he'd memorised. The corridor was long and dark and twisted around a corner lined with all manner of paraphernalia that befitted this odd example of a bygone age in a completely different country. Ducking around an ostentatious suit of armour and drifting past some decidedly sinister taxidermy, Gambit made his way on lightly dancing feet to where he hoped Solomon's office was located.

The doors along the corridor were all identical examples done up in heavy wood with a dark varnish, gold knobs set creatively in the centre of the panelling. They gleamed enticingly in the dim light of the corridor, daring Gambit to try his luck and see what lay beyond. Gambit hoped and prayed that whichever one he wound up choosing wouldn't have a nasty surprise on the other side.

He reached the far corner of the house, where he spotted a pair of large double doors that stood apart from the rest of the aperture rank and file. Gambit recentred himself spatially, and came to the conclusion that it was, in fact, the entrance to Solomon's office, and made a beeline for it. His hand rested lightly on the knob as he pressed an ear against the panelling, listening intently for any sign that the room was occupied. When none was forthcoming, Gambit knew he had a decision to make. The silence didn't guarantee that some other danger wasn't waiting for him on the other side, whether it be human beings with weapons or more nasty booby traps. On the other hand, if he didn't venture into the lion's den, the whole excursion was pointless, and anyway, loitering in the corridor wasn't exactly a foolproof method of remaining undetected. Just because he hadn't run into any men yet didn't mean he wouldn't soon, and the very fact that he hadn't was starting to make Gambit feel nervous. Rather than wait for it to happen, Gambit took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and plunged into the breach, turning the knob and slipping inside.

After all the buildup, it was a bit underwhelming to find that the office was unoccupied and also apparently lacking in deadly booby traps. Gambit quickly closed the door behind him and took out his torch, switched it on and panned it around the room. He'd guessed correctly—this was, indeed, Solomon's office: a riot of expensive, plush carpets; cases full of exotic, expensive, and probably ill-gotten artifacts; and, most importantly from Gambit's perspective, a very large, imposing desk and a safe. Gambit headed straight for the latter, sweeping his torch ahead of him as he went to avoid any traps along the way. He reached the safe without incident, and quickly removed a small lockpicking kit from his pocket, unrolled it on the floor and selected the listening device that would be best for cracking the safe's combination. Among his courses for his new career had been a unit in safecracking, and Gambit had passed with flying colours. As he put the listening device against the door and heard the tumblers fall into place, obeying every whim of his fingers, he was reminded of his instructor quipping that Gambit had a good ear, and perhaps he ought to join the local choir? Gambit grinned in spite of himself.

It took a long time—longer than he would have liked—to crack the safe. The tumblers seemed to click in a way that stubbornly defied his attempts to crack the combination, always a little off from where he needed them to be. All the while, he was painfully aware that precious seconds were ticking by, bringing him ever-closer to the possibility of being discovered by someone unfriendly with a rather large armoury at his disposal.

Then suddenly, success! The tumblers fell into place, culminating in a glorious clicking sequence that was absolute music to his ears. Gambit turned the safe's handle as quietly as he could, swung the door open and shone his torch inside. Solomon had been busy. There were stacks of files inside, along with a small number of lockboxes that signified an extra layer of security for whatever they hid within, plus several bundles of cash in various currencies and denominations, all there for the taking and utilisation in unsavoury doings. Gambit ignored them all and went searching for his prize, the papers that were the ticket out of this assignment and, hopefully, his military career. His instructions regarding exactly what he was looking for had been frustratingly vague, but he knew enough to be able to spot them. They consisted of a scientific treatise and accompanying formulae on what had euphemistically been called the 'ultimate means of national defence.' Gambit wasn't entirely sure what they meant by that, but he had a feeling it wasn't anything good. What they had been quite clear about in his brief was that Solomon intended to auction the papers off to the highest bidder, and that all the bidders were equally unsavoury candidates for possession of such a revolutionary innovation. It would be decidedly safer in their hands, Gambit was told. Gambit had always been rather sceptical about people in command telling him how things should be with the reasoning "because we said so" attached, but he was doubly so where the stakes were this high. All the same, he still didn't know what, exactly, he was looking for, and until he did, his best option was to try to follow his orders and take it from there.

Rifling through the files took longer than he would have liked. Solomon clearly had his finger in a lot more pies than MOD thought, and Gambit half-considered pilfering the whole lot and figuring out which was the right one after the fact. But then he'd have to carry it all with him, and his over-the-fence trick had been hard enough as it was without a stack of paper strapped to his back like a ton of bricks. So even though he was sure that Solomon shouldn't really have custody of any of the things that were in his box of tricks, he set about relieving him only of his original target.

Finally, after much searching, he came across a rather unassuming folder in an uninspiring shade of burnt orange with the name of the scientist in question on the front. Gambit quickly pulled it out of the stack and flipped it open, skimming the contents inside to ensure he did, in fact, have the right file. But as the treatise and the accompanying formulae slipped past his eyes in a seemingly-unending stream, Gambit felt his heart stop and drop like a stone into his stomach.

It was worse than he'd feared. The pages outlined years of scientific research by a Professor Schaad into a piece of technology that would give the user a one-up on the arsenal currently at the fingertips of anyone with access to the red button. More sophisticated and more deadly, it had been developed outside of official channels, researched by Schaad using his own private sources of funding, and he had turned it over to Solomon for sale—or been persuaded to do so by force. Gambit didn't understand all the details behind the science, but he did understand that whoever had it could dole out a spectacular amount of damage to millions upon millions of people with less of the infrastructure, fuss, and consequences of the bomb, and do so with impunity. Gambit had to resist the urge to be quietly sick as he continued to skim the pages, felt sweat drip down his brow for reasons beyond the heat of the night. He quickly made the decision to take it with him as ordered. He wasn't certain anyone should have this kind of power, but he agreed that it didn't belong anywhere near Solomon or any of the people he might be planning to sell it to.

Gambit quickly returned the various pages to their folder, then wrapped the same in a plastic bag he'd brought along for the purpose and sealed it, before slipping the package into his small satchel. Gathering up his tools and closing the safe once more, he quit the room and ducked back into the hallway, moving quickly but silently across the floor. He returned to the same room that had been his point of entry, deftly avoided the tripwire, and reemerged in the hot, sticky night air. Closing the window carefully behind him, he was about to take another running leap at the fence when an alarm sounded across the compound, quickly followed by several raised voices and a flurry of lights. Gambit swore as he realised the window had a pressure mechanism that only activated when the window was closed after being opened, a device to catch up the most careful of cat burglars. His cover well and truly blown, there was no need for stealth as the enemy closed in, and Gambit abandoned all pretence of subtlety by running full pelt toward the gate, gaining enough speed to launch himself heavenward just as the first shot cut through the close, humid night.

Gambit tucked and rolled as he hit the ground and was instantly on his feet, weaving through the dense foliage of the jungle, branches whipping at his face and around his legs, threatening to trip him up as he ran for his life. Behind him, he could hear raised voices and the clump of boots on soil as Solomon's men rallied and took off in pursuit. Gambit took a detour to a path he knew that went through the undergrowth, hoping Solomon's people were less-familiar with it. The sounds of his pursuers faded somewhat into the distance, but remained firmly at his back, unshaken and undeterred. It was at that moment, running and gasping through the heat of the night, that Gambit had the sudden, horrifying realisation that he wasn't going to escape. Already in the space ahead of him, he could hear the sounds of a new set of pursuers, scrambling to cut him off, blocking his escape path even as his original tails continued to sprint toward him. It was then that Gambit made a snap decision, diving off the path, already removing the satchel from around his shoulders.

Less than a minute later, he reemerged onto the path and resumed his flight, zigging and zagging in a vain hope that he might, somehow, evade his pursuers, but as anticipated they were soon closing in, a third group now in on the chase, executing a pincher movement to hem him in.

And then there was the cliff, doing the job for them, sending him to the brink, arms windmilling to keep his balance. He stared down at the ground far, far below, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he could survive the fall, with or without the kind of damage that would cut the chase short of his own accord. He knew it was futile even before his brain made the calculations, but he did them anyway. It was only when he'd come to the grim QED that he turned to face the music as his pursuers, all armed, all pointing their nasty-looking artillery in his face, materialised out of the dark jungle. As he raised his arms in surrender, a woman emerged from the crowd, which parted for her automatically, striding forward with confidence. She stepped in close to Gambit, arms behind her back, pointedly casual. She smiled icily at Gambit, a gesture that cut right to his bones. "Well, Major," she said in a voice that he would come to know well. "What are we going to do with you?"


	5. The Clinch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \-----------------------------------------

Gambit broke off, voice hoarse and laced with pent-up emotion and exhaustion. He was shaking badly now, so much so that Purdey was worried he was going to topple over, and she reached a hand out to steady him lest he tremble right off the bed. “Sorry,” he managed after a moment, eyes squeezed shut, arms hugging his own body as though he were desperately cold. “I just…I need a minute before…before I get to the hard part.”

“It hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park so far,” Purdey pointed out, running a soothing hand over his forehead. “It sounds as though finding those papers alone was difficult. It’d make a very good spy thriller.” She tried to sound carefree in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe you ought to write a novel. At least you’d make a little money off your misery.”

Gambit shook his head and shuddered even more dramatically. “The last thing I want to do is put any of this in writing. I want to forget it, not record it for posterity.”

Purdey winced, suitably chastened. “Sorry,” she murmured. “That was thoughtless of me, wasn’t it? I only wanted to make you smile again.”

Gambit, eyes still closed against the nightmare playing out behind his lids, reached out blindly for her hand. “You do make me smile,” he assured, gripping her digits like the lifeline they were. “Just not now. Nothing can. Not tonight.” Purdey bit her lip, but despite his lack of vision, he seemed to sense her discomfort and added, “But thanks for trying.”

Purdey sighed and squeezed his hand back. “Still, I wish I’d kept quiet this time. I do have a habit of being a little insensitive at times, I suppose. Some might call it tactless.” She smiled wanly, even though Gambit couldn’t see her. “You might have noticed.”

“Maybe once or twice,” Gambit replied wryly, but without malice. “But it’s all water under the bridge. Your tact is the least of my problems just now.” He pulled his hand from hers, opened his eyes and made to stand up from the bed. “I need to move. I’m going mad sitting here. Well, madder. I’ll go mad tonight one way or another.” He stumbled to his feet, Purdey scrambling to follow.

“Are you sure you should be up and walking around?” she queried worriedly. “You’ve had an awful lot of Scotch in the past hour or so.”

Gambit laughed as he staggered unsteadily over to the bar and poured himself some more of the amber liquid. “Not my fault you kept plying me with the stuff.”

“Me? You’re the one who told me to bring it over, and some for myself,” Purdey contradicted with a touch of annoyance, hurrying to his side just as he knocked back another glass. “You’re being particularly contrary today, along with everything else.”

“Not according to my cousin,” Gambit rambled, slurring slightly as he turned and started to pace the floor. “She’s always said I was infuriating even before all this nastiness happened. Maybe you’re just noticing now. Ah!” Without warning, Gambit’s legs gave out beneath him, scotch and stress combining in a particularly potent mix, and he tumbled bodily to the carpet. Purdey rushed to his side, wrapped her arms around him as he started to sob.

“Oh, Mike,” she soothed, cradling his head, fingers tangling in the dark curls as her other arm wrapped itself reassuringly around his shoulders. “I keep trying to distract you, but there’s no distracting you, is there?” She pursed her lips in frustration. “Not tonight. It’s in your head and it won’t leave.”

Gambit managed to nod, somewhere in the recesses of her embrace. “It’s going to come out one way or another. No way out but through, Purdey-girl.”

Purdey nodded in turn, more to herself than him. “Were those papers worth it? Were they as horrible as you said?” she wanted to know, giving him a less-personal window into his story while still enabling him to tell it.

“Worse,” Gambit replied, disentangling himself from her embrace and trying, unsteadily, to get to his feet once more. “I’ve seen a lot of schemes that’d kickstart World War Three since I started working with Steed, but that one, that technology, if someone, a person, a state, an organisation, got ahold of it, they could do a massive amount of damage. And they’d use it, no matter how good their intentions were, because it’d be there just waiting to be used. It’d be too tempting to just leave it in the box.”

“So you hid it,” Purdey reiterated, using the arm draped across his shoulders to aid his struggle upright. She walked him gingerly back to the bed. “And that’s when you were captured.”

“Yes,” Gambit confirmed, settling back on the bed with a resigned sigh. “I suppose you want to know what happened next.”

“Only if you’re up to it,” Purdey qualified, climbing onto the bed beside him.

Gambit laughed grimly. “I’m going to feel like hell either way, but I want—I need—to tell you this part, more than any of the rest of it.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “After they cornered me, they took me back to the compound…”

vvv

Gambit was frogmarched back to the compound through the dark and the heat and the sweat, guns digging into his back every step of the way. His captors had seen fit to tie his hands in front of him, the ropes cutting painfully into his skin. The rest of the contingent were either leading the way, or bringing up the rear. They’d relieved him of his bag and his tools, and even his jacket. Of the three, the latter was the one Gambit missed most on the journey, the short-sleeved shirt he wore underneath providing him with no protection against the biting insects or scraping branches. They hadn’t found the papers on him, and their obvious annoyance at that fact had given him a small amount of satisfaction. They hadn’t bothered to ask him about them yet, or made any attempt to squeeze the information out of him. Gambit knew that would come later, when he was at their disposal, and was already steeling himself. The way the darkhaired woman, who he knew had to be Vanessa Thyme, kept looking at him made his blood run cold.

The compound’s gate was open as he approached, his arrival expected, almost welcomed, and he entered by rather more orthodox means than he had before. It didn’t take long to work out that he was being taken to the squat concrete building he’d noticed earlier, the one that had made him shudder on sight. On closer inspection, he could see it had been deprived of windows in favour of a wall blessed with a few extra inches in thickness. The building was guarded, too, with men who snapped to attention when Thyme approached. “Open it,” she ordered, accent still vague and difficult to place, just as it had been when he first heard her speak. Just as the reports had described it. The guards did as they were told, scrambling to open the doors quickly, and admit Gambit and his armed posse.

They led him down a long, dark corridor that reeked of bodily fluids and fear, all amplified by the hot, humid night. Gambit set his jaw and promised himself that he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of retching or being sick. Beside him, he could see Thyme was somewhat impressed by his fortitude, but the steely look in her eyes told him his resolve was going to be more than matched by hers.

They led him into a small room with a single chair in the centre and nothing else. The guards forced him to sit down and then moved to the door, leaving Thyme to share centre stage with him. Gambit was surprised that they didn’t restrain him, but he also knew that Thyme was supposedly a capable force in and of herself. And even if he could outfight her, he wasn’t going to be able to take out the guards at the door and heaven knew how many more that littered the compound between the building and the gate.

“Well, well, Major,” Thyme began, pacing up and down the room at a leisurely pace, shattering Gambit’s concentration as he weighed his chances of escapte. “You gave us quite a chase, and you got in and out without a hitch. Almost. Your reputation precedes you.” She caught the tiniest flicker of a reaction in his eyes, and smiled. “Oh yes, I know you, Major. We have files on all of your little crew, including your tenuous connections to the British government. Or supposedly tenuous, I should say. But I know better. And I know you, Michael Gambit. Major in the paras. Ex-racing driver, now drafted into this lot. Perhaps you should have stayed in the navy. Or back at home in Battersea. Do you regret your life choices? Ah, where you could be now if you’d only stayed where you belong and not gone and stuck your nose into our business.” Her voice suddenly turned harsh, hostile, angry. “And now you’re here, and you, Major, are in very, very deep trouble indeed.”

Gambit sat ramrod straight in his chair, staring defiantly back at the woman with blazing, angry eyes. “If it means you lecturing me like my old maths teacher for the next 12 hours, then I guess I am.”

That earned him a slap, hard enough to make his head snap sideways and leave his cheek stinging. No sooner had he blinked his eyes and shaken it off, than she’d grabbed him bodily by the chin and twisted him around to meet her eyes.

“You might think you’re clever, Major. Make all the quips you want. I don’t mind. I’m patient. Very patient. I can wait you out, break you down layer by layer until there’s nothing left, and you’re a quivering wreck, begging me to put you out of your misery. I’ve done it before with men more seasoned than you, men who thought they were hard and would never be undone by anyone as inconsequential as a woman.” She spat the last word as though it were an insult. “I’ll take great pleasure in proving you wrong. But by all means, be stubborn. I have some new techniques to try. I like to keep things fresh.” She released him and straightened up, voice and expression suddenly conciliatory, almost reasonable. “Or you can save us all a lot of time and unpleasantness, and just tell me where you hid the papers you stole.”

Gambit regarded her impassively. “What makes you think I took any papers?” he asked in a monotone.

Vanessa wasn’t amused by his response. “Don’t play games, Major. Solomon keeps a very precise inventory. The safe was the first thing we checked when we heard the alarm. We know you took them.”

“You know they’re missing,” Gambit clarified, a small, smug smile stretching his lips. “That doesn’t mean I took them. I could have had an accomplice, and just played decoy while he got away. Or you could have two burglars: me, and someone else who grabbed the papers. I might have heard the alarm and legged it without taking anything.”

Vanessa folded her arms, looking decidedly unimpressed. “I know your people, Major. You have colleagues, though you normally work alone. You wouldn’t use one of them as a decoy because you wouldn’t risk your organisation being uncovered, and the odds of two burglars coincidentally visiting us at the same time are astronomical.” She leaned forward, hands gripping the arms of his chair, essentially boxing him in. “We know you disappeared for a period before my people caught up with you, and we know you took the papers. Tell us where they’re hidden and we can spare you a lot of pain.” 

Gambit snorted derisively. “Even if I had them, and I’m not saying I do, why should I tell you? You won’t let me go. You’ll kill me the second you have what you want. So there’s not much incentive for me to talk, is there?”

“You’re right,” Vanessa replied, much to his surprise. “We will kill you. But it would be quick and painless, at least. I promise you that. But if you don’t tell us, it’ll be a very long, painful, drawn-out process, at the end of which you’ll tell me what I want to know anyway. But you’ll have suffered so much by then. Why would you put yourself through that, Major? What sort of masochist are you?”

Gambit set his jaw. “Well, I guess I’m a glutton for punishment, because I have nothing to say to you.”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “Right then,” she said simply. “We’ll do it the hard way.”

Vvv

They cut his hair. That was the first thing they—the men who dragged him into the dungeon-like depths of Solomon’s base of operations—did, under the watchful eye of the woman he would come to associate with pain. It was the first act of several meant to strip him of all identity, save that of ‘the prisoner’. He watched the dark curls, already short due to his military service, drift to the floor into a neat pile as he knelt, knees pressed into the concrete, shoulders held with unyielding hands. He found himself unconsciously thanking the officious military man who had forced him leave his St. Christopher and his ring behind in England, reasoning that anything too identifiable on his person could potentially blow the operation. Gambit had given in faster than he might have under normal circumstances, believing he’d be home sooner rather than later. He had to believe it—his initial misgivings about the entire operation had been confirmed with every day of training. He’d almost resigned more times than he could count, but his conscience had stopped him every time. If he’d thought reporting it to a higher up would make a difference or, even better, get the whole sorry business shut down before it could start, he would have done so in an instant, but everyone he felt out as a potential confidante had only confirmed his suspicions that speaking out would only get him sanctioned. If he couldn’t have it stopped from above, then the only way to keep it ‘decent’, as Thorburne and Carpenter had put it, was to try to do it from within, try to mitigate the damage and throw a wrench into the operation by not letting it unfold as planned. He’d given himself six months to do it, to either force their hand and make them shut the whole thing down, or at the very least kick him out, and he’d almost made it, too. He knew he was ruffling feathers far up the chain of command, so much so that he was hearing rumblings that they were reviewing the entire operation, and he’d taken that as an indication that his work was done. He’d already made his desire to leave apparent, and thought that they’d grant it eventually, despite their hemming and hawing. That was probably more for show than anything else—he’d been enough of a thorn in their side that they weren’t going to want to grant any request he made without a fight. Things had been looking up. He’d almost done what he’d set out to do, and he was almost out.

And now this.

After the involuntary haircut, it was to the cell, the place he would call home for the next three months. One door, no windows, only a tiny slit in the wall allowing in the tiniest sliver of light. Just the bare floors, and the bucket whose purpose he could ascertain only too well. He only had an opportunity to assess the ceiling height—tall enough for him to stand up straight, but not much more--in the brief moment the door opened and light from the corridor spilled in as they flung him inside, into hell.

The first night had been filled with uncertainty, about his fate, about how long he would last under interrogation. He wondered how long it would take until they decided to cut their losses and string him up as an example to others. Then he tried to decide if it was worse for him if they did it quickly, or if they took their time. What little sleep he did manage was fitful and nightmare-ridden. But when Vanessa Thyme returned the next morning, he was fragile but still defiant.

“Hello, Major. Shall I call keep calling you Major?” She moved the word around her mouth, as though trying it on for size. “I think I shall. Tell me, Major,” she whispered, almost cooed, eye level with his kneeling form.

“Tell you what?” he snapped, jaw clenched stubbornly.

“Where you hid the papers.” With her face so close to his, he could see she had grey eyes, almost silver, and they glinted as she spoke.

“I’m not telling you a damn thing,” Gambit growled, stubbornly staring her down. “And I’m sure as hell not going to be intimidated by the likes of you.”

She smiled, and then laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong, Major. Solomon has no qualms about keeping you down here for as long as it takes. He’d much rather you suffered a bit in any case. And as I told you last night, this is going to be far from pleasant if you decide to be stubborn.”

Gambit didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead and waited for the first twinge of pain. Vanessa Thyme stopped laughing.

“It’s your choice, Major,” she said coldly.

And the pain started.

vvv

“They put me in a cell,” Gambit was telling the story very deliberately now, as though he had to concentrate very hard to string the words together in a way that made sense. His eyes were squeezed so tightly shut that his face crumpled around them. Purdey watched him with a mixture of anguish and intrigue. She could tell Gambit was narrating the scenes that were playing behind his eyelids as he re-experienced them. She’d listened, rapt, to his story thus far, particularly during his account of the break-in, which had held her attention in a way that few films could. If it wasn’t for the personal cost attached to the events, she would have quite enjoyed being kept breathless and on the edge of her seat as Gambit spun his yarn.

But this was no tall tale or idle boasting. This was a tale of pain and sacrifice and lasting scars, and she could see the cost of every moment of what Gambit had gone through etched on his handsome face as he turned inward to confront his own private hell. She wished she could put a stop to it now, just by telling Gambit to forget about telling her his story, that she didn’t need to know all the gory details of his life, and that he could start fresh with her, a blank slate, without a care in the world. But that wouldn’t help Gambit. Not now, not ever. The nightmares were coming, and she would bear witness to them whether she knew the reason behind them or not. The least she could do was act as confidante, sharing his private pain in whatever small way she could, in hopes that it would bring him a modicum of solace. Even now, as he led her into the shadows, she was happy do it. Even if it brought her a few nightmares of her own.

“It wasn’t a big cell,” Gambit went on, eyes still screwed shut. “I’d say it was 6’ by 6’, not long enough to lie down in properly. That was part of the treatment, never let you get comfortable, even in the worst possible surroundings. And they weren’t comfortable to begin with. There was a bucket in the corner for the unmentionable and nothing else, no cot, no chair, nothing. Not that you really needed blankets because it was so damned hot all the time. Hot and sweaty and humid and sticky. You were never cool. You had to wait for the water torture for that, but that came later.” Purdey winced involuntarily, and was suddenly grateful that Gambit’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t see her reaction. “All I wanted was to be cool and dry, but they’d never allow it. Probably also part of the service, but the guards were always clammy so maybe not. Maybe we were all suffering together.” His lips suddenly stretched in a grim smile. “They didn’t feed me enough, either. There was a slat in the door and they’d put the trays through, but not very often. Heat kills your appetite anyway, so it wasn’t so bad, but the weight fell off me and I didn’t have much to lose.” He licked his lips, as though tasting the salt of his own sweat could chase away the memories of the rancid food he’d been given, then carried on.

“I probably would’ve traded half my rations in exchange for them offering to empty the bucket out a little more often, but they were never that generous. The heat being what it was, the smell was pretty foul. There was one little slit in the wall that was the window and fresh air source, and that just about kept your eyes from atrophying. You couldn’t see much, but then again you didn’t want to see much. But that meant you had no choice but to listen, and it was always the damn boots on concrete, up and down the corridor all day and all night. They might have played a recording of it or something—I don’t know. But they never seemed to stop and you’d tense up every time they got close, because that might be the time they opened the door and took you out and did things to you.” He swallowed hard and Purdey followed suit, eyes wide, breathing heavy. She could feel the darkness and the fear by proxy, had experienced some of it firsthand when she’d been held captive herself, but never had the conditions of her own detention been quite that inhumane or prolonged.

“Somehow, one of the worst things they did was one of the most inconsequential. They shaved my head, over and over. Every time it started to grow, they’d do it again. You wouldn’t think you’d care with everything else going on, but it mattered somehow. Every time you started to feel a little human again, it’d be taken away. I nearly wept when I got out and it finally grew back. Good thing long hair was in style that year.” It was the first bit of humour in what felt like an eternity, and Purdey’s laugh came out more like a sob.

“I have told you to never cut your hair,” she joked in a quavery voice. “I wondered why you never argued with me given how stubborn you are.”

“I wish I had a nicer reason to be stubborn about it,” Gambit said ruefully, eyes cracking open a little to regard her. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t ever get held captive for any length of time. It plays merry hell with your fashion sense.”

Purdey knew he intended there to be levity in his words, but the reminder of what he was telling her about his ordeal quickly sobered her up again. “They interrogated you, then? Actively?” She said it with trepidation and a grim sort of resignation. “I was hoping they might have thought leaving you in your little cell would be enough to break you.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Gambit sighed. “But no, Thyme is nothing if not thorough. She tried every trick in the book to make me talk, including whatever nasty diversion she could think of when I wasn’t stewing in my cell.”

Purdey swallowed hard, knowing that they had finally, at last, come to the clinch. “What did she do to you?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Gambit took a very deep, very long, very shaky breath, and she could see he was mustering his strength for what was to come. “The usual nasty bag of tricks. There were the sessions of being held under water until you thought you might drown, or were half drowned, and then being taken out and put back in again before you properly got your breath back. There were the drugs, and the beatings, but I could handle those. There were the occasional fellow inmates they’d march in and execute in front of you, just as an example of what could happen to you. Always done close enough for you to really get the full experience. The splatter travels.”

Purdey’s eyes screwed shut, colour draining from her face, and she shuddered dramatically. It took all her self-control to not let herself collapse onto the bed with sheer emotional exhaustion, as though it had been her that had been put through the wringer. When she opened her eyes again, she couldn’t help but gape at him, uncomprehending, unable to fathom how he could have gone through so much and still have a shred of sanity left. Gambit’s face was ashen, his eyes bleak, and he was shaking so badly she wasn’t certain how he was still sitting upright. “How?” she managed finally, when she could trust her voice to not be too shrill, or to crack under the strain. “How did you make it through all that and end up with only nightmares at the end of it all? You don’t even have many scars to speak of.”

Gambit’s breathing was ragged now, nearly robbing him of his ability to speak, sweating as though recovering from physical exertion. “They were very good at getting the most unpleasantness from the least damage. There was the sleep deprivation, days of it, or at least it seemed that way, but I was too disoriented to tell. That was the point, I suppose. They had one bloke who was very good at dislocating things to order. The good thing about that from their point of view was that they could always pop them back in and do it again later. Thyme was very up on things that didn’t cause lasting damage. If your prisoner winds up full of holes, he’ll eventually be in no shape to tell you anything, even if he wants to. But she wasn’t above ordering a straightforward beating either, when it suited her. I think it was when she’d had a particularly bad day, or I was lippier than normal and pressed my luck too far. And sometimes it was psychological—they’d leave me alone for a few days and let the anticipation get to me, let me be my own worst enemy.” He swallowed, and she could see his Adam’s apple bobbing energetically, could see the lines around his mouth deepen into troughs. “Looking back, Solomon was probably at her all the time, tightening the screws to get a result. She was probably scared when it looked like I wasn’t going to break, no matter how much time went by.”

“How much time did go by?” Purdey asked in horror, uncertain if she wanted to hear the answer.

“Three months, give or take.” It was such an honest, unvarnished reply, delivered factually without hyperbole or understatement. The plainness of it made it all the more horrifying—there was nothing to hide the fact that Gambit had suffered for a very long time indeed.

Purdey swore in a hiss, and leapt to her feet to pace as she digested the magnitude of it all, feeling as though she’d go mad if she sat still one second longer. It sunk in quicker than she would have liked, and she felt instantly sick. 

Gambit was so wrapped up in his story that he hardly seemed to notice that she’d moved. “It was hard not knowing how long I’d been missing after awhile, and whether anyone was looking, if anyone still thought I was alive, or if I’d been written off as gone for good.”

“And no one tried to help you? No one came looking?” Purdey was angry now, angry that no one had tried to save the man she loved. She was even angry with herself, though she hadn’t even known him at the time. Somehow, as irrantional as it was, she thought she ought to have done something for the complete stranger who would come to mean so much. “Didn’t they send your unit out to find you? When you didn’t report in?”

“They told me after the fact that some of my colleagues made inquiries and scoped out the compound,” Gambit replied. His eyes were dead now, as though he’d switched to autopilot out of sheer self-preservation. “I wasn’t really in a position to investigate whether it was true or not at the time. All I knew was that no one came for me. To be honest, I think if anyone did go looking it was because they felt they ought to, not because anyone higher up gave the order. It was an undercover unit, remember. It would’ve looked strange if all these supposedly unconnected mercenaries dropped everything to hunt down a member of the competition who’d gone AWOL.” 

“I wouldn’t care how it looked. I would’ve done it anyway,” Purdey said with a fierceness that surprised them both. She could tell it rattled Gambit in his agitated state and tried to smile it away. “I know how stubborn you can be, Mike Gambit, and if you disappear, I know better than to give up.”

“I know you do,” Gambit said, with a ghost of a smile. “But not everyone’s loyalty overrides their desire to keep their jobs.”

Purdey snorted spectacularly in disgust at the callousness of the profession, but also with the knowingness of a professional in a similar line of work where such lack of feeling was par for the course. “I should have known,” she said bitterly.

“Steed’s been in the same position,” Gambit pointed out. “Worse, even, probably. So have lots of people in our line of work. Being captured is inevitable. That’s why I told Steed my story way back when. I knew he’d understand. But Purdey…I didn’t have the wherewithal to tell you last year, to face you when I talked about it. I needed to know where we were before I jeopardized something as important as our partnership.”

“So you said,” Purdey murmured. “But this doesn’t change anything. All I know now is how much you’ve overcome, and I admire you for it.”

Gambit’s smile was ever-so-slightly broader this time. “That’s encouraging. You might finally understand why I worry after you so much when you go missing. I know exactly what people are capable of, and if they did to you what they did to me…”

“I understand,” Purdey cut in quickly, not wanting to dwell on the possibilities. “No wonder you have nightmares.”

“Yeah,” Gambit agreed tiredly, “although it’s a good sign I only have to worry about them once a year. When I first got out, I had them every night.”

Purdey nodded in sympathy. “Didn’t they send anyone after the papers, at least?” she wanted to know. “I mean, even if they didn’t care about you being captured, they must have wondered where the papers had gone.”

Gambit looked thoughtful, in spite of his anguish. “I wondered about that. That was the one thing that I knew might encourage them to come after me, and I used to think about how I’d attract attention if someone else broke into the compound looking for me. I think they worked out that if I’d gone missing, the papers had too. They would have known the auction for them never went ahead, and Solomon was a businessman—he’d sell something and get his money rather than sit on it. So if he didn’t have them and he didn’t sell them, they would’ve worked out that I had them, and I was missing, presumed dead.” A wry smile stretched his features. “I think they may have thought I absconded with them and disappeared into the sunset. Maybe they did look for me after all, just not in the way you hoped.”

Purdey’s disgust was mounting. “So you were captured and suspected of treason? How charming.” She folded her arms in a combination of anger and indignance. “I can’t believe they left you there all that time,” she muttered, almost breathless with ire, “and no one tried to find you.”

“I didn’t say no one was looking for me,” Gambit corrected. “Just no one in my unit or back at base. My family received a vaguely worded letter about me going missing from the overseas posting that made up my cover story. They didn’t tell them where I was, of course. My cousin and my aunt spent the next three months arguing with MOD and trying to get someone to tell them what had happened to me and why no one was investigating it properly. I think they would’ve kept at it until they had some sort of answer, but after three months I was back so it didn’t really matter.”

That seemed to pacify Purdey for the moment, and she finally quit pacing and returned to the bed to settle down beside him. “I’m glad someone was fighting for you,” she said softly. “If I’d known you then…”

“I know,” Gambit cut in. “There’s a lot I would’ve done if I’d known you, too. But we can’t timetravel, so no sense in beating ourselves up over it, eh? We’ve done enough of that as it is.”

Purdey threw her arms around him, embraced him tightly, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. “They shouldn’t have let you down,” she whispered in his ear. “They let them hurt you, and it wasn’t right, and I’m going to do everything I can to make up for it.”

Gambit embraced her back, enjoying the solidness and security of having another human being to confide in and care about his plight.

They stayed that way for a long moment, and then eventually Purdey pulled back, gifted him a reassuring smile. “We could stop now,” she told him gently. “If you’re tired. Maybe you’d feel better after a rest?”

Gambit looked pale and drawn to her eyes, but he still declined her invitation for a reprieve, shaking his head in response. “If I rest, I might not have the strength to start again.”

“Let me get you something to drink, then,” Purdey offered, slipping off the bed. “Something non-alcoholic,” she added pointedly. “You’ll lose your voice if you carry on at this rate.” She made for the kitchen and set about filling a glass of water, trying not admit to herself that she needed a task to busy herself with as much as he needed the hydration. His tale was emotionally draining, even for the listener, and she was amazed at how viscerally it was affecting her. She wondered if it had something to do with the fact that she was in a profession where it could just as easily have been her in that cell, having all manner of brutalities inflicted on her person. It made the reality of it all the more vivid, the pictures in her mind coming easily to her, the idea of herself in Gambit’s place an all-too-real possibility during any of their assignments. The fact that she knew Gambit, knew how he reacted in the face of pain and adversity, what he looked like when he was suffering, made the story affect her even more, and every new revelation was like a blade through her heart. She was seeing the ghosts of the agony on his face as he spoke, could still see them when she closed her eyes, could imagine what it would be like, the torment magnified a thousand-fold. She could smell the sweat gathering on his body as he sat on the bed, the same that would have appeared on his skin all those years ago, could imagine the contortion of his features, the stretching of the skin as his mouth opened in a wordless cry. She knew what it was like to watch Gambit suffer, hadn’t enjoyed bearing witness to it even before they were involved. She liked it even less now.

She snapped out of her reverie just in time to notice that the glass was overflowing, cold water washing over her shaking hand. She turned it off quickly, grasped the glass with both hands, willing it to quit shaking, the water’s smooth surface betraying every tremor. Gambit was never going to keep talking to her about his ordeal if he knew she was quite so affected. The same self-sacrificing streak that had got him into the predicament in question in the first place would prevent him from sharing his angst even to his own detriment. But he needed to tell her about this, and she needed to hear it. Otherwise it’d only hang between them like the world’s ugliest, most distasteful, elephant known to man, festering until it resurfaced as something even nastier—a poisonous fight or dangerous isolationism. Purdey had seen secrets destroy relationships. She wasn’t about to let it happen to her and Gambit. Not if she had anything to say about it.

It was with that fighting spirit that Purdey opened her eyes and willed the glass in her hands to stop shaking. She heard Gambit say, “Purdey?” behind her, sounding worried. That wouldn’t do at all. The vulnerability in his voice killed her tremors stone dead. She turned back to Gambit with an encouraging smile on her face, and returned to the bed to give him the water. “You okay?” he inquired, and Purdey noticed as he took the water from her that his hands didn’t shake, his own anguish temporarily banished and subsumed by his concern for her well-being. Purdey fell a little more in love with him instantly. “You took your time.”

“If you must know, I was waiting for the tap to run cold,” Purdey bluffed. Gambit regarded her somewhat suspiciously over the rim of his glass as he drank, but elected not to pursue it. Clearly he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong and elected to trust her, as was so often his chosen course of action in their line of work. Trusting Purdey had always been second nature where Gambit was concerned. 

“Are you ready for me to continue?” he wanted to know, as he handed back the glass.

“I’m ready if you are,” Purdey said confidently, taking the glass and setting it on the side table. “How did you get out?” 

“Bided my time,” Gambit said. “I knew I could take out one guard if I was alone. I wasn’t in good enough shape to take on two without raising the alarm, and definitely not to take on the whole lot. But they always showed up in pairs, or more. But Solomon had bigger fish to fry, and he started planning some sort of large operation. I never worked out exactly what it was, just caught bits and pieces from the guards. And I could tell Thyme was preoccupied. The last week or two, she didn’t have as much time to torment me. Just as well, because it let me save my strength. I don’t know if I would have had a chance otherwise. 

“A few days before I estimated it was all going to kick off, I started eating less, played at being in worse shape than I was. Not that I had to fake it too much. But anything that made them underestimate me was all too the good. I don’t know if I was particularly convincing, or they just needed the extra manpower, but one day I could hear them heading out, and there was only one man left on my door. I don’t think they thought I was even capable of making a run for it by that point. I played sick, corny as it was. Got him into the cell, and cracked his head against the wall, put his uniform on, took his gun. Took out two more on my way out of the building, but I was lucky that there was enough going on outside for me to blend in with the crowd.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “I nicked one of their vehicles, too, and the bloke on the gate was too harried to really check me out. I’ll bet he paid for that. I drove as far as I could, then walked the rest of the way, how I don’t know. One of the men in my unit had an outpost in the jungle, and I was lucky that he was at home that day. I collapsed on his doorstep, and he was good enough to get me medical attention instead of putting me out of my misery on the spot.”

“And Vanessa Thyme?”

“I never saw her again,” Gambit said, sounding relieved. “Or at least, never outside my nightmares. I don’t know what became of her, if Solomon held her to account for losing me, or if she got out before the axe fell. As far as I know, no one ever caught her…” He swallowed hard, and Purdey could tell that that particular fact bothered him. “But at the time, all that mattered was that I was out…”


	6. The Way Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same Time Next Year
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \----------------------------------

Gambit’s envelope of darkness was fading. He couldn’t quite pin down how long he’d been enmired in it, but it felt like an eternity. An eternity in the dark, of one kind or another. After all that time, he knew he should be glad to return to the light. Trouble was, he wasn’t entirely certain that what was waiting for him on the other side was worth waking up for. His last memories had been of pain and fear and desperation. He didn’t know if he could take much more that. But in the end, it didn’t matter if he wanted to wake up or not. His body was already making the decision for him. 

Slowly, tentatively, he forced his eyelids back, wincing at the bright light, painful after so much time spent in his cell, but determined, in spite of his trepidation, to see where he was. If he stretched his mind back to before the black, he could just remember escaping, and collapsing on the doorstep of another member of his unit. The last thing he’d been conscious of was the man’s urgent voice sounding in his ear. After that, everything had faded to black. 

In spite of the rather sizeable gap in his memory, he was certain of one thing—he felt terrible. But at least that meant he was definitely, blessedly alive. Unfortunately, it didn’t mean that he was in any condition to celebrate that particular fact. He felt as though all the stuffing had been taken out of him, leaving only empty skin filled with nerves still capable of registering his various aches and pains. Despite his body’s protestations to the contrary, he tried to move, then groaned as the pain amplified. He slumped weakly to the bed, exhausted, even that minor exertion sapping what little strength he had left. His efforts were not entirely wasted, however, because someone stirred just outside of his line of vision and came to stand by his bed. His still unfocused eyes fought to identify the visitor, and he nearly fainted in relief when he realized it wasn’t a foe.

“Sara,” he croaked, as his cousin put a hand to his forehead, smiling a tired smile.

“Damn you, Michael,” Sara Lynley scolded without much conviction, settling carefully onto the edge of the bed, mindful of jostling his aching form. “You seem intent on getting yourself killed before you hit 35.”

“Thanks for the warm welcome,” Gambit rasped, a tired grin creasing his pinched features. He’d never been happier to see this particular familiar face. Sara’s words, he knew, were nothing more than an indication of how much worry he’d put her through, a carefully constructed defence mechanism mounted for both their sakes. And if he was honest, he was glad she wasn’t coddling him. Normality was all he could pray for at this point. And if Sara was willing to tease him, even a little, that meant he was probably going to be all right, in spite of it all.

“Oh, you know I don’t want to be rid of you just yet,” Sara protested, desperately trying to maintain the façade, before her smile crumpled with the rest of her face. “But hell, Michael, we’ve spent the past three months in limbo. ‘MIA,’ they’ve been telling us. ‘Presumed dead.’ Presumed. Never anything definite.” She bit her lip so hard he feared she’d draw blood. “I can’t say I wasn’t a little angry at one point--at them, at you for going off to do something that’s been hushed up to the point that it was almost as though you never existed to begin with.” She let out a long sigh, and the built-up tension with it. “Now I’m just relieved that you’re home in…one piece.” 

He didn’t miss the hesitation, and it didn’t surprise him. He knew he’d lost weight, and although he hadn’t had a chance to confirm, he thought it likely his body bore a few new scars. Not to mention what three months of no proper sunlight had done for the complexion.

Wait…

“Three months?” he repeated disbelievingly, unable to comprehend how his imprisonment felt both shorter and longer than his actual incarceration. “Was that how long I was…gone?” 

Sara nodded. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past week. All you’ve wanted to do is sleep. But when they found you, you’d been MIA for three months.” She swallowed anxiously. “Don’t you remember?”

Gambit shook his head as much as he dared with every muscle screaming in protestation at the slightest twitch. “Lost track of time. Where they had me locked up…you couldn’t tell. And they made sure to pull the rug out from under me as soon as possible.” He managed a half-smile as Sara winced at his words. “You can guess what happened without me filling you in, can’t you? Because I’m sure I look like hell, and if you’ve seen any of my body…”

“It’s not that bad,” Sara assured, pulling back the covers a little so he could see his chest. “See? And considering how well you heal, well, I’ll bet you’ll hardly be able to see a mark in a few months.” She reached a hand up to his head, and he could feel her running it over his skull. “Your hair is making a good recovery, too, but it’ll probably take longest. It looks best when the curl comes back.”

“Thanks for the tip, but it’s hard to care about your looks when you feel like you’ve been steamrolled,” Gambit admitted flatly. “They didn’t feed me too well, either.”

“Well, you’ve always been slim,” Sara mused as lightly as she could. “Knowing you, you’ll be back to fighting weight soon enough. And out of bed even quicker, whether the doctor advises it or not.” She laughed a troubled laugh that told him she was even more shaken than perhaps even she knew. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get over it faster than me.”

Gambit really looked at her for the first time, at the long dark curls pulled back into the untidy ponytail, thrown into sharp relief by her pale, drawn, tight features. Sara had been blessed with porcelain skin, but now she looked more washed-out than ethereal. He’d put her, and probably his Aunt Katie, through more than anyone should have to contend with, and felt terrible about it. He reached out a hand, desperate to offer a little solace to make up for the stress, and she squeezed it without hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She shook her head, not accepting the apology. “Something like this was bound to happen to one of us sooner or later. And of the two of us, you were never going to be happy wiling away your days in rural Basingstoke, Michael. You like adventure. We both do.” Tears started to form. “But I won’t lie and say I didn’t worry. Mum and me…we’ve been trying to come to terms with it since the letter arrived. They said you were probably dead, but I couldn’t believe it. You’re much too stubborn to let yourself be done in that easily.” She blotted away tears but her smile was triumphant. “And look--I was right! So I’ve been working every day to dig up leads whenever I’ve had the time. But I have to admit, these past few weeks, it was starting to look more and more like you really weren’t coming back.” 

“But you were right the first time,” Gambit pointed out, as though trying to convince himself that this was really happening. “I did come back.”

She nodded tentatively. He suspected she didn’t quite believe the scene playing out was reality, either. “But you did.”

They lapsed into silence as they considered the other alternative that had been the more likely outcome of the two, the one where Gambit didn’t come back. The one they both had resigned themselves to at some level. Then Gambit cleared his throat and tried to move the conversation onto other, less dismal things. “You said…Aunt Katie?”

Sara took a fortifying breath. “Yes, she’s been here. We’ve been taking turns sitting with you. A few friends from the racing circuit and the navy have been by. And some army brass. And Spence, of course.” Sara smirked a little. “But the only time you stirred was whenever the nurse came around.”

Gambit grinned in spite of himself. “I needed something to wake up for. Remember, it has been a few months…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sara exclaimed, putting her hands quickly to her ears. “The one thing I haven’t missed about you is your love life.”

“Suit yourself. I thought you’d be happy to see signs of recovery.” Gambit’s trademark wicked smile was weak, but at least it was a trace of his old spark, and Sara was happy to see it. Even if this wasn’t a line of conversation she was keen to pursue.

“They want you to report in as soon as you can,” she told him, then elaborated at his bemused expression. “Your people. They want you to file a report about your…experience.” She picked irritably at his blanket. “I imagine they’ll be wanting you to talk to a therapist or something as well. I told them you’d be stubborn about it, but they’ll insist. Even I think it’s for your own good.”

“Right,” Gambit muttered sarcastically, eyes drooping closed. “I’ll get on that right away. How long before they let me out?”

“I don’t know,” Sara admitted, “but when they do, you’re staying with me.” 

“Don’t need to go to all that trouble,” Gambit protested, sleep already taking him. How could he still be so tired? He’d done nothing but sleep for days.

“You’re not in any shape to argue,” Sara pointed out, accepting his body’s commands more easily than he. “Sleep now, Michael. We’ll talk later.”

vvv

“I had to build myself back up again,” Gambit went on, as Purdey propped her chin in her hand. “Put on weight. Go through a psychological assessment. But as soon as I was well enough, I made it known I wanted out, to resign from service. They’d already shut the unit down. Too much of an uproar over my not-so-stealthy non-completion of the Solomon assignment, and the mess I left behind me when I broke out. At least two of my colleagues had their cover blown getting me medical attention and out of the country. So I guess I did what I set out to do, in a roundabout way.” His smile was grimly humourous. “They did want to hang onto me, believe it or not. Keep me around for other postings, but I wanted out completely. Even going back to the Paras wasn’t going to be the same. Too many reminders. By late-1972, I was out.”

“And that led you to the Ministry,” Purdey concluded.

“Eventually,” Gambit replied, casting his mind back.

vvv

“Feeling better, are we?” Sara looked up from the boiling kettle as Gambit came sauntering into the kitchen, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, looking aimless and bored.

Gambit regarded her blankly. “What makes you say that?”

Sara gave him a look that warned him not to insult her intelligence. “Besides the fact that you’ve been prowling around restlessly, getting underfoot? You’re so starved for stimulation, you came in here looking for action because you heard the kettle boiling.”

Gambit grinned sheepishly. “Maybe I wanted some cocoa.”

“You want more than cocoa,” Sara said knowingly, waving at him to take a seat at the kitchen table. “You don’t even really like cocoa. You want action.”

“I would’ve thought action was the last thing I needed,” he pointed out. He slid into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, watched Sara rifle through the cupboards.

“It was,” Sara agreed, pulling out a pair of mugs and setting them on the counter next to the can of cocoa. “When you arrived, and you couldn’t sleep more than an hour at a time, or hear a door slam without jumping a foot.” She spooned cocoa into the mugs with studied casualness, trying to banish the thoughts of Gambit’s state of mind had been like when he’d moved into her flat. “You needed time to heal. But now you have—or at least, you have enough of a semblance of normality that you need more. You’ve read all the paperbacks and done all the sketching and listened to all the records that you can. You need something more.” She poured hot water over the cocoa, and stirred rapidly. “And until you find it, you’ll keep driving yourself mad languishing around this flat all day. And you’ll drive me mad in the process.” She tossed the spoon in the sink and picked up both mugs. “Not to mention you’re killing my love life stone dead. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but having your cousin dossing on the couch kills the mood.”

“Okay, okay, no need to get graphic.” Gambit cringed visibly as Sara turned to face him. “I get the point. I need to do something with myself. Any bright ideas?

“You could join up,” Sara offered, settling down across the kitchen table from him and handing Gambit a cup of cocoa. 

Gambit shook his head. “I’ve had my fill of the military. And globe-trotting. I’d like to be based in England for a bit.”

“Not the military,” Sara corrected, sipping her cocoa. “I was thinking something more along my line of work.”

“Espionage?” Gambit arched a sceptical eyebrow. 

Sara shrugged. “Why not? With your skillset, they’d take you in a second. And I can guarantee you’d never be bored. Well, except for the report writing. But there’s always something, isn’t there?”

Gambit still didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know if my ego would survive working with you day in and day out.”

“I didn’t mean with me, Michael,” Sara contradicted, rolling her eyes. “Heaven knows how I’d get any work done. I just got promoted. I don’t need you slowing me down, any more than I want you as my lifelong roommate.” She shifted the previous day’s newspaper, sitting forlornly on the kitchen table, to reveal a file underneath. She slid it across the table, and Gambit stopped it with a finger, turned it to face him.

“What’s ‘The Ministry’?” he wanted to know.

“Something you should look into,” Sara said cryptically. “Read the file, and if you like what you see, ring the number inside. I think you can come to some sort of arrangement with them.”

vvv

“You never did tell me their names,” Purdey observed as Gambit snapped back to reality. 

“What?”

“Your family,” Purdey clarified. “You just called them your aunt, cousin, whatever. You never named them.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want you looking them up just yet. Not until I’ve had a chance to prepare myself,” Gambit explained wryly. “Otherwise next thing I know there’ll be a family reunion in my living room.”

Purdey wrinkled her nose. “Do you think I’d do that?”

“Yes,” Gambit confirmed, with a knowing smile that bore some resemblance to his old self. “I know you only too well, Purdey-girl. You’ll have to be patient.”

Purdey pouted, and Gambit shook his head. Purdey was Purdey, no matter what you threw at her. There was something infinitely reassuring about the fact that she could still latch onto relative trivialities, seeded in amongst his tales of horror. But equally importantly, her ill-humour never lasted for long when it came to something so inconsequential. He let her pout and continued his story.

vvv

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” Sara Lynley asked in concern, arms crossed tightly across her chest, protecting herself when she would have rather been protecting him. “Back there, where it happened, all on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” Gambit assured, adding some clothes to the black leather carry-on. “I’ll be back soon.”

“‘Soon’ being the operative word,” Sara shot back. “It’s too soon. You’ve only been out of hospital five months. You’ve barely moved into this flat.” She gesticulated at the mounds of unopened boxes stacked around the living area, which currently contained a table with two chairs, a small cot, and television sitting on the floor. “Unless you’re going for some sort of minimalist, post-modern aesthetic I don’t know about.”

“I’ll have lots of time to unpack when I get back,” Gambit resolved, picking up another small stack of clothes from the cot and depositing them in his bag.

Sara arched a sceptical eyebrow. “You start training at the Ministry in three weeks. You’ve only just finished all the interviews and evaluations. Need I remind you that I’m the one who put you onto them in the first place?”

“I know,” Gambit said calmly, crossing to his cousin and putting his hands on her shoulders. “And I’m grateful. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Sara said bitterly. “The last time you went to that place, you disappeared for three months. Then you miraculously reappeared and I sat beside you while you laid half-dead in a hospital bed, wondering if you were a ghost.” There were tears in Sara’s eyes now. “I’m worried that you’ll go there and not come back this time. Those people who held you are still out there, and even if they aren’t, you can’t expect that when you get there you’ll have no ill-effects at all? No flashbacks?”

Gambit sighed. “I’m not saying I’m going to enjoy it,” he admitted grudgingly. “But I’m making good progress. I’m sleeping better, I’m exercising, my appetite’s never been better.” Sara still looked unconvinced, so he added, “If you think I haven’t moved in, you should see the inside of the fridge.”

But Sara was undeterred and unswerving in her concern. “Then why would you want to go back now, when you’re making such good progress? You risk undoing everything you’ve gained, and for what? Nothing.”

Gambit shook his head. “It won’t be for nothing, Sara. You have to trust me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t explain,” Gambit said quickly. “But I need to go back. I have to. If I have any chance of moving on, I need what happened to me to mean something…” His eyes became distant, and for a moment it looked like he might say more, but then he shook his head as if dismissing the idea. “Look, I just have to go.”

Sara looked at him resignedly. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”

Gambit shook his head, smiled fondly at his cousin. “Sorry, Sara. I have to be stubborn this time.”

“You’re stubborn every time,” Sara shot back wryly. “But I can tell you’re not going to be talked down. Promise me you’ll be careful, at least. And that you won’t stay a minute longer than you have to. And that you’ll come home immediately if you feel like it’s too much for you.”

“I promise,” Gambit vowed, drawing her into a fierce hug. “And I don’t mind you worrying after me. Don’t know what I’d do without it, to be honest. But think of it this way—I did come back, even after all that happened. A quick visit is nothing in comparison. You won’t even have a chance to miss me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Sara sighed, and hugged him back.

vvv

Gambit took an indirect flight back to Africa, making a number of connections and layovers, calling in a few favours he’d chalked up during his navy and racing days to pick up some private flights that left his name off the flight lists. He wanted to avoid anyone other than Sara knowing where he’d gone, or even that he had gone, if he could help it. He knew that, given the chance, his old employers would go to great lengths to acquire the papers that had changed his life inalterably.

He knew he’d feel something upon landing in the country that had borne witness to his living nightmare—a sense of foreboding, perhaps, or even just anxiety. But he thought he had managed to get his emotions under control enough in the intervening months that he’d be able to hold things together relatively well. That made it all the more upsetting when he found himself locked in the bathroom of a building not five miles from the airport, shaking and sweating and gasping for air. He wasn’t even anywhere near the jungle or the compound where his ordeal had taken place, and here he was, a complete wreck, a prime candidate to be shipped off for institutionalisation at the first opportunity. For a moment, Gambit considered what Sara had said about turning around and coming home at the first sign of emotional turbulence. But Sara didn’t know what was at stake, and Gambit didn’t know if he could live with himself if he left the papers where they were and they were found by someone who wouldn’t think twice about selling them to the highest bidder. He’d already put them at risk throughout the period of his confinement and recovery. So after an hour of permitting himself to be a complete mess, he took a deep breath, composed himself, drew on his years of martial arts training, and forced his mind to clear, his body to calm, his focus to return, and his resolve to strengthen. Then he left the bathroom and set out to do what had to be done.

He stayed overnight in the nearest town before setting off in a vehicle he rented with cash, plus a little extra so the owner would conveniently lose his records on who, exactly, had taken his vehicle for the week. It took time to find his way back to the compound, the maps not logging all of the secret trails and back roads that the less-than-savoury people had carved out over the years. Eventually, he had to abandon the vehicle when the road became too narrow and rough for its rickety undercarriage. He slung his bag onto his back and set off on foot toward his destination. 

It was strange, retracing his steps to the compound, the same journey he’d made before his capture months earlier. It had been dark then, and he had been full of trepidation. It was light now, but he still found the whole journey daunting. He didn’t expect to find anyone at the compound now--they’d cleared out shortly after he was found by his people, he’d been reliably informed. No one knew he was here, on either side. He expected to be able to recover the papers without incident. But all the same, the memories were weighing him down further with every step, and he had to remind himself several times about why he was there, and how he could—must--be strong. He knew he could do it. He just had to put his head down and not let the background noise dissuade him.

Eventually he stumbled onto the track that led to the compound, and got his bearings. A shudder running through his body made him thankful he didn’t have to go back to the compound itself, having hidden the papers a safe distance away.

He hoped his memory hadn’t failed him. Closing his eyes, he pictured the scene: him running from the compound, Thyme and her people in hot pursuit. He remembered the chills he’d felt as he realised that he wouldn’t get away, that there was no escape. The only thing he could do was get the papers someplace safe, someplace no one would ever find them, regardless of whether he made it back. It had been dark then, but with his excellent memory, he managed to find his way back to the clearing where he’d hastily buried the package, albeit after a few wrong turns. He found the rock, overgrown with local fauna, that had served as his marker in the dark of the night. It didn’t take too much digging to uncover it. As he picked the package up and held it in his hands, ruminated on how much it had cost him, he wondered if he was relieved that he had found it, or resigned to the fact that it was still in his life. “What now?” he muttered to himself, before tucking the package away, and turning to make the long, secretive trek back through the jungle.

vvv

“What did you do with them?” Purdey wanted to know. “Did you bring the papers back with you?”

Gambit studied the water in his glass. “I thought about leaving them where they were,” he confessed. “And about reburying them in a location where no one would ever look, or just destroying them.” His finger idly traced the rim of his glass. “I’ve thought about destroying them lots of times.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Gambit shrugged. “Didn’t think that was my choice to make. I felt like I was already putting my oar in more than I really should have, just hiding them. I wasn’t sure I wasn’t mad taking decisions about who should have the power to take out their enemies and potentially start World War Three. I was acting on gut instinct and not much else.”

“The best kind of reason, as Steed keeps reminding us,” Purdey pointed out.

Gambit smiled ruefully. “I didn’t know Steed then.”

“No, but you still did the right thing, taking the papers out of the picture. Even if you didn’t destroy them.” Purdey met his eyes. “You must realise that. Something that powerful. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I don’t know what I had or have or don’t have,” Gambit admitted with a sigh. “But either way, I did manage to bring them back without the full force of my old employers crashing down on me, so I must have done something right.”

“So they’re here. In England.” Purdey surmised. “Hidden away. Are they safe?”

Gambit took another sip of water and nodded. “Safe as they’ll ever be. Unless I find a good reason to move them. And I haven’t yet.”

“And you’ve been keeping that secret all this time,” Purdey marvelled. “It must wear on you.”

“I don’t think about it much,” Gambit admitted. “Or at least, I try not to. Usually I’m good at it, but today it all comes back.” He bit his lip. “If I don’t tell you where it is, will you hold it against me? Because if I die, I’d rather the hiding place went with me. I don’t want to make anyone else responsible for them.”

Purdey shook her head, reached out to take his hand. “I don’t care where it is. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you are here, now, and you don’t have to handle it all alone. Not anymore. Do you understand? It’s over. You did what you have to do, and I am so very proud of you. You made it out and you did the right thing, and I admire you for it.” She squeezed his hand hard. “Thank you.”

Gambit was smiling crookedly, not used to having quite so much praise being heaped on him, and from Purdey of all people. “For what?”

“For telling me,” Purdey said simply. “I know it can’t have been easy, and I can understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about it. But thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, finally. It means so much.”

“Thanks for listening. For being here.” He looked at her worriedly. “Do you still feel the way you did before? Are you going to look at me differently from now on?”

“Mike Gambit,” Purdey chastised gently. “You should know me better than that by now. It’ll take more than tales of woe from your past to make me leave you, and I’m certainly not going to start treating you like a charity case.” She paused, then added, “But I will take care of you, when you need taking care of. And today—tonight—I can tell you need taking care of, because you can’t do it for yourself, and you shouldn’t have to. You have been alone in this for much, much too long, but that’s over now. You can relax.” She reconsidered her words. “Well, as much as you can relax while reliving a nightmare.”

Gambit chuckled in spite of himself, but the chuckles turned into sobs, and before either of them knew it he was shaking so badly, shoulders heaving, that Purdey put her arms around him, partly to comfort him, and partly to keep him from shaking off of the bed. She held him tightly as he wept in relief, in pain, in gratitude for having her there, and she knew, somehow, that despite the tension that remained in his shoulders, that it had lessened a little, that even if the horrors still flickered behind his eyelids, he was, at least, no longer trying to shore himself up on his own, with nothing but his own will and his credo of self-reliance to see him through to the other side. It was then that she realised he must have done this so many times before, had no arms to hold him together. That made her want to cry, for him; for the past him locked up in his cell; for every scar on his poor, battered body; for everyone who was alone without anyone to help them in their time of great need. But the best thing she knew she could do now was what she had already done, what she was doing now. And she was glad to be there, with him, to make certain he was never, ever alone again and would never be without a balm for his soul. Maybe she couldn’t fix what had happened to him, maybe she couldn’t cleanse him of all of the torments that still haunted him, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to try, and she was going to keep trying as long as they both had breath in their bodies. Because that was what partners did. And Gambit was her partner, in every sense of the word.

Eventually, Gambit lapsed into silence and pulled away from her, staring off into distance at things Purdey couldn’t imagine—and didn’t want to--both hands wrapped around his glass in a death grip. He’d spent the last of his strength telling his story, and now that it was finished, he had nothing left to give, mental and emotional reserves completely spent. Purdey watched him, heart breaking, wishing she had the power to go back and time, take the young Gambit by the hand, and tell him not to go to Africa, to follow her into a horizon and future that held no pain. But as there was no time machine in the offing, she was going to have to do the best she could with the present.

Purdey leaned forward and gripped the rim of the glass with her fingertips. “Let’s get you to bed,” she said gently.

Gambit continued to stare straight ahead, and for a moment Purdey thought he might not have heard her, but he shook his head an imperceptible amount. “No bed.” The words were clipped, staccato, all that he could muster. “Can’t sleep. Nightmares.”

“Yes, but you’re exhausted,” Purdey cajoled. “You can’t sit up like that all night. You’ll tip over onto the floor and then where will we be?” She leaned in close, pressing her chest against his shoulder and stroking the back of his head. “At least lie down. You don’t have to sleep.”

She could feel that he was still shaking. “Will you stay with me?” His voice sounded so timid, so fearful, hardly like him at all.

“Of course I’ll stay,” Purdey said patiently, despite already having made that assurance. She got the impression that Gambit was cognizant of very little, including the recent past. “I’m not about to leave you alone with your demons, Mike Gambit. We’re partners, remember? We have to look out for one another.” She leaned in and lightly kissed his temple. “But let’s make you more comfortable. I’m liable to worry otherwise.” Gambit sighed, and she felt his weight shift as he leaned against her. She tightened the arm around his shoulders, holding him close, hand still on the glass. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and we won’t do anything you don’t want to do, all right?”

There was a moment, and then, finally, Gambit nodded. His grip on the glass loosened, and Purdey took it from him, set it on the side table. She used her free hand to feel Gambit’s forehead, and her palm came away slick with sweat. “Gambit, you’re burning up!” she exclaimed in alarm.

“Always happens,” Gambit managed. “The heat. I remember the heat.” He pulled away from her suddenly, stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “Too hot. I need to cool down.”

“It’s all right,” Purdey soothed, leaping to her feet. “We’ll cool you down. Come on.” She reached out a hand, and he took it, gripped it like the lifeline it was. Purdey held tight and led the way to the bathroom.

She cast her mind back to a year earlier, remembered her and Gambit’s disastrous trip to the disco, and finding him later that night huddled, fully clothed, in an ice-cold shower. He hadn’t been able to explain why he was there at the time, even after she climbed in after him, but it all made sense now. Purdey understood his reasoning, but planned to conduct herself a little differently this time.

Once in the bathroom, she turned to face Gambit, brushed some hair back from his forehead, her fingers picking up beads of sweat, before setting to work on his buttons. Gambit looked down at her hands in mild disbelief, then back up at her. “I’m not really up for this much fun,” he commented, a hint of his usual spark permeating the fog of memory. Purdey grinned in spite of herself.

“It’s not that. I’m going to put you in the shower to cool off. But unlike last time, I thought I’d do it in a way that was rather less punishing on our wardrobes.”

“Oh.” Gambit looked back down at her hands. “I can do that myself.”

“Can you?” Purdey eyed his shaking fingers. “It’s all right, Mike. I don’t mind.”

Gambit mustered a tenuous grin. “Well, if you’re sure…”

Purdey didn’t answer, just kept going, nimble fingers working quickly. She slid the shirt off, and only then did she see that his chest was flushed, too. She turned away and folded the shirt, set it on the toilet, not wanting Gambit to see her concern. The sooner she got him to cool off, the better. She knelt and helped him remove his boots and socks, then straightened up and set to work on his trousers. Unexpectedly, he put his arms around her and hugged her tight. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. “For being here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” she assured, pulling back so he could see the sincerity of her smile. When she finished pushing down his trousers, she helped him into the tub, making sure he sat down carefully lest his legs give out. Then she turned on the shower, opting to make it lukewarm rather than ice cold, mindful that he could catch a chill. The water started flowing, and Gambit let out a long, relieved breath through his nose. But as Purdey reached out to draw the shower curtain across the tub, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. 

“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded, alarm written all over his face. “Please.”

Purdey stroked his cheek and smiled away his fears. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. “I don’t want your bathroom floor to get wet, that’s all.”

“I don’t care if it gets wet.” Gambit was talking in a rush, water dripping down his arm and onto the floor. “Please, just don’t go.”

Purdey relented. “All right,” she soothed. “I won’t.” His desperate grip loosened, but he watched her nervously as she took off her shoes and stockings. Eventually, he relaxed and closed his eyes, and Purdey watched his chest rise and fall as she shimmied out of her dress and underwear. She shook off the sense of déjà vu as she stepped into the tub and knelt facing him between his outstretched legs, just as she had that night a year ago. Only this time, the water wasn’t as cold, she wasn’t in the dark, and her dancing dress wasn’t going to need drying out in the morning. 

She drew the shower curtain closed, sealing them into their own little rainy world. The water quickly plastered her hair to her head, trickled down her body, but all she saw was Gambit, line between eyes that were squeezed tightly shut against the water, or his memories, or both. She rested a hand against his chest, felt the elevation of his heartbeat, wished she could do more than keep him cool and let her know she was here, but just being with him seemed to be what he needed, so she was happy to provide it. Gambit opened his eyes at her touch, and lifted the arms from where they were resting on his knees to wrap around her. She did the same, and they held each other, forehead to forehead, as the cleansing water poured over them.


	7. In the Wee Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \---------------------------------------

Purdey wasn’t sure how long they stayed in the shower, but eventually Gambit stopped shaking and she could feel some of the tension leave his muscles. She looked up from where her face was buried in Gambit’s chest to find his eyes shut tight, but the little crease between his eyebrows had faded considerably, suggesting a level of relaxation, or at the very least semi-consciousness, which at that point was a blessing.

Purdey gently disentangled herself from Gambit, and switched off the tap. She looked to Gambit, but he didn’t react, just sat there, water dripping out of his sodden hair. She squeezed some of the liquid out of her own blonde strands and carefully climbed out of the tub, retrieved two towels off the rack. She wrapped one around herself and draped the other over her shoulder. It was only then that she bent and touched Gambit’s shoulder.

He wasn’t quite as relaxed as she’d hoped, as evidenced by the way his eyes snapped open and his body jerked upright. “It’s all right,” she soothed, meeting his eyes, trying to quiet the pulse skipping along under her fingertips. “It’s only me. I thought we could try going to bed.”

Gambit looked uncertain. “Bed means sleep. Sleep means nightmares.”

“We don’t have to sleep,” Purdey pointed out. “We can sit up with the lights on all night, if you want. But you must admit it’ll be more comfortable than sitting in here all night.” She took his hand, squeezed it reassuringly. “I’ll be there the whole time, I promise. You won’t be alone.”

Gambit thought about this for a moment, but Purdey could feel by the way that he gripped her hand that her presence was an anchor in his otherwise-swirling mind. Eventually, he managed a small nod. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Purdey smiled encouragingly, and helped him stand, his trembling limbs sapped of his usual strength. She guided him carefully out of the bath, making sure he didn’t trip as he stepped over the side, and wrapped the towel around him as if he were only a small child. Which, at that moment, he practically was.

She guided him out into the living area, never breaking eye contact, certain that if she did he’d see something horrible in her place. She felt blindly behind her for the bed, not looking away from him for a moment. Eventually she found the sheet, drew it back. “You can sit down. I’ll take care of everything else.”

He swallowed hard at the sight of the bed, but she beckoned to him, trying to convince him there was nothing sinister hiding under the covers, and eventually managed to manoeuvre him between the sheets. But when she moved to step away, his hand was suddenly on her arm, eyes begging her not to go. “You said you wouldn’t leave,” he said in a panicked rush, the words tumbling out one after another.

“I’m just going to find something to wear,” she explained patiently. “I can’t very well sit in this towel all night. Much as you might want me to.”

That got a small smile out of him, much to her relief. If he responded even a little bit to flirting, that meant some of the ghosts were being held at bay. “I’ll just be in the next room, and only for a moment. And I’ll leave all the lights on. Do you think you can handle that?” She was starting to wonder if leaving him alone at all, even for something as simple as getting clothes, was wise. She could see Gambit’s uncertainty, too, but then he seemed to strengthen his resolve. The muscles in his jaw tightened stubbornly, and he nodded. 

“I’ll be okay,” he vowed, and released her arm. It was a promise to her, and Gambit prided himself on never breaking a promise, especially to her. He was promising to make an effort to be strong, for her. Purdey nodded once to show him she understood, even if his making the gesture broke her heart a little, but hurried to the closet nonetheless. She surveyed the small selection of clothes she kept at Gambit’s flat, briefly considered choosing a pair of pajamas from the multitude sent to him by his aunt, but in the end opted for a short nightgown. Something told her that of Gambit was able to feel her skin against his, it might be a comfort, a sign that there was someone nearby, that he wasn’t alone.

She slipped the nightgown on, then retreated to the bathroom to hang up her towel, clean her teeth, and comb her damp hair into something resembling a hairstyle. Then she almost dashed for the living room, suddenly conscious of how long she was taking. It had probably been only a few minutes, but to Gambit she knew it could easily feel like an eternity, and in his state of mind that was much too long for him to do something unwise.

Her heart was in her mouth when she entered the living room, but to her relief Gambit was all right, sitting up in bed with the sheet pooled around his waist, looking pale but still physically intact. Purdey sighed in relief and moved to lay her hand on his shoulder. He started a little in surprise, but when he saw it was her, he grasped her arm like the lifeline it was. “You’re back.” He didn’t bother trying to hide the relief in his voice, or to make a joke about his dependence on her, which told her how frightened he really was. This was Gambit stripped of all his defences, not because he chose to be vulnerable, or because the situation warranted it. This was out of his control, which was devastating for a man who put so much stock in his own self-discipline. He was relying on her entirely, and Purdey was determined not to let him down.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I said I would be.”

Gambit bit his lip and nodded a little. “Yes. Sorry. I…I don’t know what I thought would happen.”

“You thought I might disappear,” Purdey supplied, not unkindly. “Or that I was never real to begin with. But I didn’t and I am. And I’m not going to leave you again. I’m just going to get some things from the kitchen, but you can watch me so you know I’ve not disappeared into thin air.”

Gambit nodded again, eyes unbelievably wide, almost childlike. “Okay.”

“Good.” Purdey kissed his temple, then moved to the open concept kitchen that backed onto the living room. She cast around for what she might need during the night, collecting items as she went, welcoming the distraction of slipping into brisk, businesslike efficiency mode. A bowl of water, with ice, and a tea towel, to cool his brow, since he had a habit of overheating when he was dreaming or having flashbacks. A glass of water to make up for everything he sweated out. Some sleeping pills, though she wasn’t sure she could convince him to take them. Gambit hated any kind of medication—it dulled his senses and his reflexes, two things he relied on to keep himself—and his partners--safe. But if he was desperate enough, and she was there to keep watch over him, then maybe he could persuade him to take them. She carried her bag of tricks to the side table in stages, then paused and moved to readjust the television so it could be seen from the now-extended bed. It might be a good distraction, she thought, though she wasn’t sure how much Gambit would be able to appreciate anything he might watch. After much debate, she also poured a small measure of scotch into a glass, and added it to the table. Gambit had already quaffed a certain amount while he told his story, and she wasn’t certain getting him drunk would help his already frazzled mind, but maybe it would be useful later on, if she was desperate. Finally, she found his Mozart record and put it on the turntable, needle down, but didn’t switch it on. Music was a common stress-reliever for her, and because Gambit’s flat was automated she could activate the player without having to leave the bed, just as she could switch on the television or the lights at will. She sometimes teased Gambit about his love of gadgets, but she knew they might prove a lifesaver that night, perhaps literally, even if she was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

Her preparations finished, she went back to the bed, where Gambit was still sitting, cross-legged, beneath the sheets, staring off into space with a haunted look in his eye that made her want to cry. She forced herself to remain impassive. If Gambit thought he was upsetting her, it’d only upset him more, and that was the opposite of what she wanted to do. So she braced herself and got into bed beside him, forced her tone to be breezy rather than overwrought. She laid her hands flat on the mattress behind her for support and leaned back. “So,” she said gently to Gambit, who flinched a little at the sound of her voice. “What happens now?”

Gambit blinked at her for a moment, disoriented, clearly lost in unpleasant memories of the past. “Uh, I don’t know to be honest. It doesn’t really follow a schedule.”

Purdey nodded, as if that made sense to her. “All right. What do you want to do next?”

“Not go through the rest of tonight,” Gambit answered bluntly, and Purdey could see how frightened he was. It was disconcerting to say the least. Gambit wasn’t one to show fear easily—he knew how to slip the mask into place, knew how to trust his training and instincts to see him through, had the discipline to fight panic and doubt and uncertainty. Even when he was scared, he still managed to suppress the worst of it long enough to make sure everyone made it through the crisis intact, or as much as that was possible. But to see Gambit this frightened, completely at the mercy of whatever he was facing and unable to resist it, let alone fight back, was a new and unwelcome sight. She was so used to leaning on Gambit when things turned serious, so certain that she could trust him as both friend and partner to lend his strength to her cause and help her through whatever troubles she might encounter. She’d done the same for him both professionally and personally before, of course. But never like this. Never had he been quite so raw, so vulnerable, so completely dependent on her to hold him together mentally and emotionally. She was strong, but she was going to have to be doubly strong tonight, to see them both through the long, lonely hours to come, with not even him recounting his horror story to distract them. But she was determined to do everything she could to help him on a minute-by-minute basis. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she let Gambit down. 

“If I had a time machine,” Purdey opined, watching Gambit’s forehead crinkle slightly in puzzlement, “I’d take you into the middle of next week, and you could skip all this.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “But since mine’s still in the planning stages, tell me, what can I do tonight?”

Gambit bit his lip, and she couldn’t help but be disappointed that her joke failed to raise a smile. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never had anyone to help me through before. Never let anyone.” He cast his eyes downward. “I don’t know what to say, other than just be here. With me.”

“I think I’ve already made it quite clear that I plan to do that,” Purdey pointed out. “Why don’t we try lying down?”

She felt Gambit tense up immediately, the muscles in his arms turning wiry. “Lying down means sleep. I don’t want to sleep. Please.” He was pleading with her again, helpless with fear.

“Shh.” Purdey placed her hands on either side of his head, turned it so he had to look at her. “We don’t have to sleep. Just lie down. We’ll leave the light on and we can look at each other. You don’t have to close your eyes. But you’ll get awfully tired if you sit like this all night, and I don’t think wearing yourself out will help. And if you do get frightened, we can always sit up again.”

Gambit thought about this for a moment, then sighed. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Purdey smiled encouragingly, and supported his form so he could settle down onto the mattress on his left side. When she thought he looked comfortable enough, she did the same, stretching out on her right side so they were face to face. She met his eyes, reassuring him that she was here, unwilling to let that distant expression he’d been wearing throughout the night re-emerge. Gambit was looking back at her uncertainly, but at least he was looking at her.

“Would talking distract you?” she asked him. “Or does that only make it worse?”

Gambit considered. “Anything’s better than thinking about it,” he decided. “If we can think of something to talk about.”

“Mike Gambit, you ought to know by now that I always have something to talk about,” Purdey scolded gently, and Gambit laughed a little in spite of his current misery, which told Purdey that whatever she was doing, it was working.

“All right, I’ll leave the topic up to you,” he relented, happy to surrender to Purdey’s irrepressible will. “Just nothing too strenuous. I’m not at my best.”

“Well, all right, but a little healthy mental exertion might be just what you need.” She considered for a moment. “For example, have you ever wondered which one Steed would choose if he was only allowed to have either his bowler or his brolly?”

That made Gambit chuckle again, and Purdey carried out both sides of the debate, admirably, all on her own, until he fell asleep.

vvv

It was hot and dark. Gambit couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, but he could feel the sweat trickling down his back, stinging open wounds he hoped weren’t as bad as he imagined. He was so tired, desperately needed to sleep. He’d lost track of time awhile ago, shortly after the last time they’d dragged him out of the room to force his head into a trough of water until he almost passed out. He didn’t exactly look forward to that ordeal, but at least it was better than being in the dark, cramped room with the bucket that no one emptied often enough. Being out of his cell reminded him of the existence of things like sun and breeze and sky, even if they were only glimpsed briefly.

But that didn’t stop him from starting at the sound of footsteps outside his door, his body trained to associate them with pain and questions and the effort required to keep from giving in. He was tired, so tired, but as the steps got nearer the adrenaline kicked in, and he was wired, eyes opening wide, even as the door creaked and the light streamed in, blinding him. His heart raced, sweat broke out across his body, drenching him even more. It was so hot, so stuffy. He was suffocating, drowning, and yet they were still somehow going to take him and make him suffer more. He didn’t want to, couldn’t take any more. Not again!

vvv

Gambit sat bolt upright with a cry, body drenched with sweat, scrabbling around frantically in the dark for something to hang onto, to make it harder for them to take him away, even if it only bought him a second or two. And then there was light--from the door! It had to be from the door!

“Mike!” The voice came from over his left shoulder, and there were hands on his arms, holding him tight, the touch tender, not rough. “Mike, it’s me. It’s Purdey.”

Gambit swung around in surprise, came face to face with a pair of familiar blue eyes worriedly meeting his. He looked below them and saw the rest of Purdey’s face. Purdey’s. Not anyone else’s. Just Purdey’s. “Are you real?” he asked, voice shaking.

“I’m very real,” Purdey assured, rubbing his back. “You were having a nightmare. Wherever you thought you were, you aren’t there anymore.”

Gambit looked hard at Purdey, expecting her to dissolve into nothing at any moment. “Purdey.”

She nodded in confirmation. “Purdey.”

He swallowed hard, then looked beyond her. The light that he had been so sure was an opening cell door was, in fact, the lamp on his side table, which Purdey had undoubtedly turned on the moment he’d begun thrashing about. He started to feel himself relax.

“Purdey,” he repeated, sagging against her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” she chastised gently. “You had a nightmare, that’s all, but it’s all right now.”

He wanted to cry in relief at her words, and in spite of himself, he did. A little. “Right, right.”

“Shh,” she soothed, wrapping her arms around him and holding him until the sobs subsided.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked eventually, when he could trust his voice to stay steady enough to speak.

“A little over an hour and a half,” she told him. “Maybe closer to two. How long does it usually take the nightmares to start?”

“They usually come on sooner than that,” Gambit replied, taking the glass of water she offered him. It was blessedly cool, passing over his parched lips like a soothing balm. He handed it back to her when he was finished, and she quickly swapped it for a cloth dipped in ice water, applied it to his brow to try to staunch the sweat that was trickling down his temples. Gambit sighed in relief as he felt his body begin to cool and calm.

“What does that mean?” Purdey wanted to know, and Gambit looked at her in confusion for a moment, until she clarified what she meant. “That it took longer than usual. Is that a good sign?”

Gambit took the hand not currently occupied with the cloth and squeezed it gratefully. “I’ve never slept that long before the nightmares started. Not once. So yes, I think it’s a good sign. And it’s all down to you.” 

“Well, it’s not all me,” Purdey demurred, but looked quite pleased with herself nonetheless. “If you hadn’t quit paying attention to my scintillating line of reasoning about why Steed would definitely choose his bowler over his brolly, you wouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

“You’ll have to catch me up some other time, when I’m in better shape to appreciate it.”

“I intend to,” Purdey assured, removing the cloth. “Better?”

“Much. Thanks, Purdey-girl.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. The nightmares were still there, lurking in the back of his mind, but they felt more distant than they had a few moments ago. “I think I might try going back to sleep.” 

Purdey looked surprised. “Already? I thought you’d take some time to calm down after that.”

“So did I. But it seems like I’ve found the best way to recover from nightmares is a chat with you.” Gambit settled back down under the covers. “So long as you don’t abandon me, I think I’ll be all right.”

“Well, I was planning on going out to dinner later, but if you insist.” Purdey rearranged the cloth so that it would drape over his forehead without her assistance. “Just wait a moment while I pay a visit to the facilities.”

vvv

Gambit slumped forward as far as his bindings would let him. The chair was bolted to the floor and kept him from tipping over, not that he would have felt much if he hit the concrete. Parts of him had gone blessedly numb from the bindings, his wrists where they were restrained to hold his arms in place behind his back. The pins and needles were almost a relief after the pain that had been doled out for the past three hours.

His mouth was bone dry—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any water—and tasted terrible, a mixture of blood and vomit and the aftertaste of whatever truth serum drug they’d pumped him full of this time. He’d been surprised by that, the recourse to drugs. They didn’t seem like Thyme’s style. In their brief but intense acquaintance, he’d pegged her as a far more psychological adversary, one more likely to play with your mind to get what she wanted, leavened with the odd bit of pain for good measure. Gambit knew how to fight the drugs, had been trained in it before he was deployed, but he still found it rather odd that they were only being used now, after something like two to three months—by his count; it was hard to keep track of time in the cell—into his interrogation. Still, whatever reason was behind it, Gambit knew it couldn’t be good. Which was why he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor as he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled closer and saw a pair of army boots enter his field of vision.

“Well, Major?” The voice still made his blood run cold, even after all this time. But he didn’t let on, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, and the dark curls that were littering it. They’d obviously cut his hair again a few hours earlier. He felt his brow crease in minor bemusement. How had he forgotten that? He knew intuitively that that couldn’t be a good sign. His mind was starting to go. Who knew how long it would be before he lost any semblance of sanity?

“You know that waiting me out is never going to work,” came the voice again.

“I don’t believe that,” Gambit said flatly, with just a touch of sarcasm. “I’m bound to make you late for a meeting or something at some point. May as well keep at it. I’ve got time to kill.”

There was a rustle of clothes as the feet rearranged themselves, and Gambit could tell she’d leaned forward. “I have things to kill, too.”

“I’m sure you do, but could you start with the rats in my cell? It’s getting a bit crowded in there.”

He heard a short, sharp intake of breath that he recognised as the infuriated inhalation of someone whose temper was wearing thin, followed by deep breaths that revealed a brave attempt to calm oneself. “All right. Have it your way, Major,” she growled, rising from her chair and walking past him toward the door. In spite of himself, Gambit relaxed the tiniest fraction of an inch. Another round of inquisition over for the day. Another hurdle surmounted, however small, however insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

But he should have known better. He should have known Vanessa wouldn’t leave him alone that easily. Without warning, hands were gripping his shorn scalp, fingernails digging sharply into his flesh newly-revealed flesh. His head was forced back, tipping over the back of the chair, eyes meeting Vanessa’s own as she bent over him, lips parted in a snarl. She looked half-crazed, and Gambit wondered seriously, for the first time, if she was going to kill him. If he’d finally worn her patience too thin. Dully, he realised that this intelligence didn’t do much for him, that he was somehow, not suicidal, not resigned, but accepting. If this was how it ended, so be it. He’d had so much of his autonomy taken from him long before he’d found himself in Vanessa’s cell. One thing he could choose was to not be forced to give up on something he believed in so strongly. And if, by some miracle, he ever did find a way out of there, he was going to hold out just as much with his so-called commanding officers about the whereabout as he was with his torturer. A manipulator was a manipulator, and Gambit had had his fill of them for life.

“You can hold out as long as you like, Major,” Vanessa was snarling into his upturned features. “But no one’s coming for you. Everyone thinks you’re dead. And no one cares. One day you’ll beg to give me the papers, just so I’ll put you out of your misery.”

“We’ll see about that,” Gambit shot back. “But you shouldn’t try to take away all my hope. Give me only my principles and convictions to hang onto, and I’ll cling to them twice as hard. And then we’ll both be in for a battle.” He matched Vanessa’s feral grin with one of his own. “So I’m up for outlasting you out of sheer grit, or stubbornness. But I’m not going to be your puppet. And if my people do happen to come for me, you can tell them the same thing. I’ve had my fill of the lot of you.” With that, he wrenched his head from her grasp, and commenced glowering at the nearest wall. Much to his satisfied surprise, he thought he caught a glimpse of a disgruntled Vanessa just before he did so. He was going to need every victory he could get in the days to come, and heaven knew they were going to be few and far between. May as well savour them.

vvv

Purdey awoke with a start, and instantly knew something was wrong. Turning on the light and sitting up only confirmed it. Gambit was gone, the sheet pushed aside, the cloth she’d put on his forehead lying limp and forlorn on the side table. “Mike?” Purdey called, throwing back the bedclothes in a frenzy of long legs and nightdress. She quickly registered that Gambit’s trousers were missing from the pile of clothes she’d laid carefully on a chair. She’d gotten up for a glass of water not an hour ago. Gambit had been sleeping soundly then. Had she woken him up when she’d gone back to bed? She cursed herself for falling asleep. She should have stayed awake, kept a vigil. One night without her beauty sleep was a small price to pay for Gambit’s well-being and her peace of mind. The idea of Gambit getting up in the night and wandering off half-clothed and not in his right mind made her stomach twist into the most diabolical of knots. “Mike?” she cried again, a little more desperately this time, padding around the flat to search for any other clues of where he’d gone. She checked that the front door was still closed and locked, and felt a brief flutter of relief, then set about searching the flat, heading toward the guest room, bare feet slapping against the tile near the closet. “Mike?” On instinct she tried the bathroom door, flung it open just in time to catch the full effect of Gambit being loudly sick in the loo, muscles in his naked back straining violently as he emptied his already-hollow stomach into the basin.

“Mike,” Purdey repeated, softer this time, voice laced with sympathy, felt her legs go rubbery with relief. She snagged a towel off the rack, one that hadn’t been used to dry them off after their shared shower, and knelt down beside him as he half-sat, half-fell, back onto the tiles, the strength of throwing up costing more than he could afford. “Here,” she said gently, draping the towel over his bare shoulders before stretching to pick up the glass he kept in the medicine cabinet. She filled it at the sink, a difficult stretch on her knees, but she managed it. She didn’t want to stand lest Gambit think he was being abandoned. She settled back on her knees with the full glass and handed it to Gambit, keeping one hand on it as she did so. “Rinse your mouth,” she instructed, like a mother to a sick child. “You’ll feel better.” Gambit drank without comment, swirled and spat it in the bath before settling back against her. Purdey left the half-full glass on the tiles beside her in case she needed it again, then set about cradling Gambit’s shaking form against her. She felt his forehead and found he was burning up again, her palm coming away slick with sweat, and there was a deep line between his eyes and a general pallor to his skin that made him look more ill than traumatised. “Sick with trauma,” she remembered her Uncle Elly saying on those few occasions he’d been serious about his time in service, and the men he’d seen suffer in the aftermath. Gambit was among their number that night, unquestionably.

“Do you want to go back in the shower?” she asked after a moment, as she stroked his hair absently. “Cool down again?”

“No,” Gambit croaked, eyes still shut tight, whether from pain or nausea or bad memories she didn’t know. “I just—can we just sit here for awhile?”

“Of course we can,” Purdey assured. “What did you do when you were alone, and didn’t have anyone to care for you?”

“Sat here on my own,” Gambit said simply, blearily. “I’ve been here before, lots of times, but not with good company.” Purdey felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth at the compliment, a bright spot in this awful night, and kept up stroking his hair. Gambit shifted suddenly, uneasily, pulling away from her. “What’s wrong?” she wanted to know, even as he fell forward onto his hands and knees, crawling away from her. “What happened?”

“I need to lie down,” he croaked, settling down on his side against the tiles. He noticed her looking at him with alarm, and smiled crookedly, apologetically. “I’m feeling sick again. Probably all that scotch from earlier coming back to haunt me. Besides, I can’t relax if I can feel you but can’t see you. Knowing that there’s someone behind me, someone I can’t see, it’s—“

“Too much like the cell,” Purdey finished, mouth pressed into a thin, grim line. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Gambit murmured tiredly, curling up on the tiles, towel sliding off his bare shoulders. “You can go back to bed, if you like. I know it’s not comfortable, but the tile’s cool at least. It feels better than the bed.”

“I’d rather keep you company,” Purdey asserted, pulling the towel back over his shoulders before taking another one off the rack for herself. She spread it over her body like a blanket, lay down facing him. “Is this okay?”

“Everything about you is okay,” Gambit murmured thickly. “Sure you don’t want to get a pillow or something? I know it’s not exactly the Ritz down here.”

“And leave you alone? No, thank you. You gave me the fright of my life when I woke up and found you missing,” Purdey said with feeling. “Anyway, I’ve slept in my share of uncomfortable places. When we were rehearsing a show at the ballet, I used to sleep on the floor backstage all the time.”

Gambit was watching her with slightly-glazed eyes, and she could tell he was torn between a nightmare from the past and the reality of the here and now. He was desperately trying to focus on the latter, and Purdey made it her personal mission to help his cause as much as possible. “Couldn’t the Royal Ballet spring for a couch?” he wanted to know, a question stretching across the expanse of space and time between them.

“One or two,” Purdey acknowledged. “But we had a whole troupe to accommodate and the hours were long. Everyone was competing for the good napping spots. It was all I could do to curl up on a sandbag under a shawl in a corner somewhere.”

Gambit slanted a sceptical eyebrow at her. “You’re sure this was the ballet? Not a scene out of ‘The Little Match Girl’?”

“Gambit!” It was an automatic cry of outrage, one without much force behind it. She was more grateful that he was talking. “It’s not all glamour in the arts, you know. It’s mostly hard work—blood, sweat, and tears, and lots of competition to be at the top. It only looks pretty and fairylike when we’re onstage. We worked long hours for very little pay, and we were always bruised, our toes were always bleeding, and everyone was always exhausted.”

“But you loved it.” Gambit’s lips were tense, but somehow he managed a smile.

“But I loved it,” Purdey confirmed with a wistful sigh. “I do wish that I’d been able to stay a little longer. Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Gambit sounded surprised.

Purdey shrugged. “Well, if I had stayed, I might never have ended up at the Ministry. Might never have met you.” She reached out and stroked the curve of his jaw. “And that would have been much, much worse than never dancing Odette.”

Gambit laughed softly. “You’re sure about that? Lying here on a bathroom floor with a man having a nervous breakdown?”

“Very sure,” Purdey said sincerely, smiling away his fears. 

“I always knew you were mad,” Gambit quipped, but she could tell he was barely fending off tears of gratitude and love at her devotion, here and now, in the depths of his despair.

“Then we make a good pair,” she pointed out, shifting closer to him so she could curl her arm around his waist, maintaining physical contact.

He nodded almost too earnestly, eyes still flickering with ghosts. “Tell me more about the ballet,” he almost pleaded.

“What, now?”

“I’ve always wanted to know more about your dancing days. Now seems as good a time as any.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything.”

So she told him. Told him about rehearsals and classes and costume fittings, about the smell of the theatre and the thrill of applause, about friendships that had since drifted into Christmas cards and the odd telegram from overseas. About how dance had always been the one thing she could hold onto in good times and bad. Very bad.

He didn’t fall asleep, but he did drift into a half-somnolent state, just when her throat had gone raw from talking, and then she was finally able to pull him to his feet and sleepwalk him to bed, where he collapsed without comment into a deep slumber.


	8. The Morning After the Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \--------------------------

Gambit awoke the next morning, slowly, blearily, so disoriented that he felt as though he were emerging from a coma. The crick in his neck and the lines stamped into his flesh by the creases in the sheets told him that he’d been lying in one position for some time, the best indicator of a long, undisturbed period of sleep. Gambit squinted uncomprehendingly at this evidence of an extended period of slumber, not quite able to believe he’d managed to stay unconscious for that long without being rudely interrupted by his own brain. But there had definitely been no pounding heart in his chest when his eyes had opened a moment ago, no sheets drenched in sweat, no cry of fear on his lips. Just his eyes slowly sliding open and squinting at the sunlight streaming into his living room. It was the morning after the night before, but a completely different kind than the sort he usually associated with that term. And it was definitely different than the type of mornings he normally enjoyed after awful anniversary nights. 

His well-honed instincts sensed movement over his shoulder, spurring him to react before his brain had even twigged that something of interest was happening. He rolled over and looked blearily up at Purdey, who was perched on one of his bar stools, dragged into position by the bed, sipping a cup of tea and reading one of his weaponry magazines. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said brightly, treating him to a radiant smile. “I was starting to wonder if you’d slipped into a coma, but I didn’t want to wake you. You needed all the sleep you could get.”

Gambit blinked disbelievingly at her. “So I slept through part of the night?” he hazarded. Even though the evidence was there, creased into his flesh, he still felt unsure of his ground. 

“Well, yes,” Purdey acknowledged, eyebrows knitting worriedly. “Don’t you remember?”

“I remember you putting me to bed,” Gambit said slowly, eyes focussed as though he was concentrating hard. “I remember waking up screaming once. And again to be sick…” He started working his jaw, trying to unpick the quilt of nightmares and old memories from the new ones. “We fell asleep on the bathroom floor, didn’t we?”

“You might have. Briefly,” Purdey said wearily, rotating her shoulders to ease the crimp in her back. “I still have the tile pattern dug into the skin all the way down my right arm. I talked until you settled down and then brought you back to bed. Don’t you remember?”

Gambit shook his head. “No,” he admitted.

“Not surprising, I suppose,” Purdey sighed. “You were half-out before you even hit the pillows.”

“And I didn’t wake up after that?” Gambit looked incredulous. He knew Purdey had to be right. He’d come to the same conclusion before she said a word. But it still seemed impossible. Too much to hope for.

“Oh, you did,” Purdey replied. “You woke up twice more. Once around three, muttering something about wanting to be let go, and then again at six. But you fell asleep so quickly again both times that I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

“I don’t,” Gambit confirmed, finally rising into a sitting position. “Which is saying something.”

Purdey cocked her head in interest. “Do you usually remember waking up?”

Gambit nodded. “And then some. I remember what I’ve been dreaming about a little too well, and then I can’t get it out of my head long enough to go back to sleep. And when I do it’s not for long. To wake up only, what, four times, and only remember two…” He shook his head. “That’s unheard of in all the time I’ve been dealing with this.”

“Is that a good thing?” Purdey wanted to know, looking unsettled by the possibility that it might not be.

“That’s definitely a good thing.” Gambit shook his head in mild disbelief. “And I slept undisturbed after that?” 

“For the last three hours or so, yes.”

Gambit’s head snapped up in surprise. Even according to his own calculations, he hadn’t thought it could be that long. “Three hours? Are you sure?”

“Just about,” Purdey replied in mild alarm, still looking concerned. “I didn’t enter it in your chart or anything. I’m only impersonating a night nurse, not auditioning for the actual part.”

“You ought to,” Gambit recommended, a careworn but very real smile spreading across his features. “I’ve never slept that long undisturbed since I started dealing with all of this.”

“And that’s good?” Purdey reiterated, setting her cup, saucer, and magazine down so she could take Gambit’s hand and help him struggle out of the bedclothes.

“Good? It’s brilliant,” Gambit enthused as he got to his feet, feeling elation override disbelief. “It means I did better. I felt better during…well, maybe not all of it, but bits of it. I had some peace, despite the nightmares.” His crooked smile was endearingly boyish, as was the hopeful light in his eyes. “Maybe it’ll get to the point, someday, where I don’t have to dread that day when it comes around. It gives me hope, at least. And it’s all because of you.” He grasped her hands in his. “Just like last year. I was with you and I felt better. I coped better.”

Purdey was looking at him incredulously. “But I didn’t do very much,” she demurred. “Other than mop your fevered brow and make soothing noises and sit here--”

“That’s right,” Gambit interrupted. “You were here. You held me together. You got me through the night. And you kept calming me down. And it was exactly what I needed. I always knew you were the best thing I’d ever seen.” He pressed grateful kisses to her palms. “Did I mention I love you?”

“You may have, once or twice.” Purdey’s smile at the compliment was quickly interrupted by a yawn, and Gambit’s face fell instantly. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think—did you get any sleep at all?”

“A little,” Purdey replied, smiling to take some of the sting away. “I didn’t do too badly until you disappeared to the bathroom on me, and then I didn’t want to wake up and find you gone for good.”

Gambit ducked his head and flushed. “Sorry,” he apologised. “But I did warn you it wouldn’t be a good night. You didn’t have to—“

“I wanted to,” Purdey cut in, feeling his forehead. “And I’ll survive. It’s no worse than spending all night on surveillance.” She smiled bravely. “I am made of stern stuff, you know.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gambit acknowledged, as Purdey moved her hand to press the back to his cheek.

“How are you feeling?” Purdey wanted to know. His temperature was back to normal, he wasn’t sweating, and his eyes weren’t glassy, but he still looked grey and tired and generally worn out.

“Like you, I’ll survive,” Gambit told her wearily, elation ebbing away as his body remembered just how fatigued he was. “I’m just tired. Wrung out. Feel like a piece of dried cod, and about as lively.”

Purdey nodded and dropped her hand, satisfied that he was tired, but not ill. “Sounds about right. I made some coffee, if that’ll help.”

“You’re a saint. And a psychic.” Gambit kissed her forehead and made for the kitchen, extracting a cup and saucer of his own from the cupboard into which to pour the life-giving brew.

“Are you fit to go into work today?” Purdey wondered, trailing in his wake. “I rang Steed, and he wants us to meet at the stud farm, but if you’re not well enough, we could take some time off and I could stay with you.”

Gambit poured the coffee and took a sip before shaking his head. “No, I’ll go in. It’s better than hanging about here and thinking about whatever my mind threw up last night.”

Purdey bit her lip and regarded him with concern, second-guessing her earlier diagnosis. “Are you sure? Only you still look awfully peaked.”

Gambit set the coffee cup on the counter, and rested his hands, palms down, on either side of the vessel. “I’m not saying I’m up to running a marathon,” he admitted. “The aftershocks tend to linger on after the fact. I’ll still get flashbacks today if things hold true to course.” He shrugged resignedly. “At least at the farm there’ll be fewer people to see me if I break down. You and Steed won’t just think I’m hungover or coming off a bender.”

Purdey still didn’t look convinced, but she knew there was no point in arguing. Gambit could be as stubborn as her, and just as resolute. “I suppose you could always go upstairs and have a rest in one of Steed’s guest rooms if you had to,” she said finally, reluctantly. “And you won’t be doing anything dangerous.”

“You don’t know that,” Gambit teased. “Maybe Steed wants us to re-roof his house.”

“At this point, that might actually be a relief,” Purdey said softly. Gambit was trying to be light-hearted, but the lines around his mouth and the deep creases between his eyes told her that the ghosts of the fight he’d waged the night before were still haunting his consciousness. “If we’re going to go, we’d better get ready,” she went on, switching to business when the consequences of looking into Gambit’s eyes got to be too much. She’d spent enough time surveying the pain in them to last a lifetime “You can have the shower first. I’ll tell Steed we’re coming.”

vvv

Gambit shed the trousers he’d spent half the night in, now so permeated with dried sweat that he threw them directly into the laundry basket as a complete lost cause, and stepped into the shower. He turned the tap to hot this time, allowing himself water that was a more humane temperature than what he and Purdey had bathed in the night before, and pressed his palms to the wall in front of him for support as he lent forward and bowed his head under the stream. The water washed over him like a cleansing wave, banishing some of the lingering fog of fear of the night, but as he’d told Purdey, there were still echoes of nightmares and old memories banging around in his skull. The proof, as if any were needed, was evident in the involuntary shuddering and tremors that he was still exhibiting, though he’d been trying to keep them hidden from Purdey in the kitchen—how successfully, he didn’t know. He shook his head to clear it, droplets of water flying outward, slapping against the shower curtain like violent rain. He wasn’t fine, not really, but he was better—much better than he had been the morning after his ordeal in previous years, even better than the previous year, when Purdey had been there and provided some of the solace that had been missing from the evenings he’d struggled through alone. Because she’d had the full story this year, and the wall between them--that emotional wall that had kept him from confiding in her because she still wasn’t close enough, because he couldn’t burden her with the story and the questions and the awfulness of it unless he knew she wanted to be in that deep, that she was so invested in him that it would hurt her more not to tell her than to tell her--was no longer there. And now he had and she’d risen to the occasion magnificently. The fact that she’d accepted him and all of his messy backstory unconditionally had only deepened his love for her, and his admiration. He hated to worry her more in the light of day, after having done so much of that during the night, but then again, he worried about Purdey all the time. He supposed that was what you did when you loved someone—you cared, even when it hurt to care. That meant a few shakes weren’t going deter Purdey, after everything else that they’d gone through, professionally and personally. And given her own personal history, Gambit knew she wouldn’t expect him to be completely rehabilitated after one night.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, rinsing off the memories as best he could, but eventually there was the sound of the shower curtain being drawn aside and bare feet slapping against the slick shower floor. Gambit smiled knowingly. “Worried I’d use all the hot water?” he quipped, with genuine humour, but he couldn’t quite keep the edge of relief out of his voice.

“Worried you’d collapsed and hit your head, and I’d find you half-drowned,” Purdey replied diffidently. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hands resting flat on his stomach. He could feel the side of her nose on his shoulderblade as she pressed her cheek gently against his back. “Until I’m convinced you’re all right, I feel better when you’re where I can see you.”

“I’ll be all right,” Gambit reassured softly, taking one of his hands from the wall and using it to cover both of hers. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Purdey nodded against his back, letting her cheek caress the skin there. Now that she wasn’t preoccupied with other things, she was noticing his diminished physicality again, could feel every muscle and bone was more pronounced beneath his flesh, as though a layer of padding she hadn’t even realised was there in the first place had been stripped away. Gambit had never been what could be described as ‘heavy’. At least not in the time she’d known him, though she had trouble picturing him chubby at any age. But he’d never been alarmingly thin, either, not under ideal circumstances. 

She’d come to the conclusion that Gambit had a tendency to lose weight under stress, something she’d witnessed firsthand, she realised in retrospect, after the awful business with Doomer, which had taken almost as much of a toll on him as it had on her. They’d been so busy working overseas in France at the time that she’d never really had a chance to sit and look at him objectively. Not that she’d wanted to, feeling as uncomfortable as she did about what had transpired between them in the aftermath of Gambit killing Doomer to save her own life. The slight prickliness in their relationship meant their usual camaraderie had been temporarily put on ice. But when she called up mental images from that time, she realised that his face had been thinner, and tireder too. And if he hadn’t been wearing a bomber jacket cut to disguise the width of his waist, she somehow had the feeling she’d have realised the rest of him had whittled away as well. In retrospect, it alarmed her that she hadn’t noticed a physical change in him. But Gambit had always been very good at distracting her, and at internalizing his pain while he dealt with it himself. She suddenly had a sense that Gambit had not only been dreading the approach of this most horrific day on his own personal calendar, but also confiding in her about it, for quite some time, and had been quietly letting it eat away at him. She vowed to keep an eye on his physical state the next time she was worried about him. Gambit never liked to let on that he was worried, but Purdey was determined not to let him deal with any more things on his own, not now that she was here. Gambit had always looked out for her, and she was determined not to do the same, for this man she loved above all else.

Eventually they got out of the shower, and crowded one another in the mirror while he shaved and she did her hair and make-up, she unwilling to let him out of her sight even for a moment. Gambit didn’t protest, which told her more than any protestations about his well-being ever could.

They dressed in companionable silence. Purdey caught Gambit’s hands shaking a little on occasion, but he managed well enough until he got to his tie. Purdey stepped in to help him with the knot without comment. It was a simple case of seeing a need and filling it, but it earned her a grateful, relieved smile, and Purdey felt her heart swell in response.

She decided, without consultation, that she ought to drive, and Gambit took the passenger seat of the TR7 without so much as a peep. The only consequence was that Purdey couldn’t keep her eyes on Gambit and the road at the same time, but at least in the car there weren’t too many places he could go or much he could do, and when he did cross his arms and close his eyes, at least she knew she’d be there for him when he woke up—if he slept at all. But Purdey thought Gambit could use all the rest could get after the night he’d had, whatever form it came in. Purdey knew she could use a nap herself, but she’d snuck some of Gambit’s coffee before she’d gone in the shower. She’d pulled a face at the taste and made a sort of retching sound that was decidedly unattractive. She didn’t like coffee, even if she knew it had its uses in their profession, one that came with a lot of late nights followed by early mornings. But that didn’t make it more palatable. Still, as she changed lanes, she had to acknowledge that it would at least keep her from falling asleep at the wheel and killing them both.

She knew that Gambit must have slept a little, because when she pulled into Steed’s driveway, the crunch of the gravel under the TR7’s tyres failed to alert him to their nearness to their destination, and he didn’t stir at all, not even when she switched off the engine. She sat and looked at Gambit’s sleeping features for a moment, reluctant to wake him. Some of the lines on his face had smoothed out in sleep, but he was still pale and careworn, complexion alabaster in the morning light, mouth pressed into a grim line as a defence against things only he could see. His hands were pulled into fists within his crossed arms, and the dark circles under his eyes looked worse under natural light. But he was sleeping again, for another spell that was obviously longer than his usual annual ordeal, and she didn’t think she was flattering herself to think that it was her presence that was once again allowing him to get a little shuteye, no matter how tense he was.

She thought she hadn’t been sitting there long, but eventually the front door opened and Steed appeared, clearly having heard the car and wondered who had arrived and why they weren’t announcing themselves. She waved to let him know it was her, and indicated the sleeping Gambit in the passenger seat. Steed squinted against the morning light and seemed to understand what she meant, nodded and gestured for her to come in when they were ready. Purdey gave him a thumbs up and watched him retreat into the building, before undoing her safety belt. She bit her lip, took one last look at the sleeping Gambit, and then sighed and gently shook his arm. “Mike…”

Gambit jerked awake, banging his elbow on the car door in the process, and it was only Purdey’s reassuring repetition of his name that kept him from doing himself a real damage. He blinked disorientedly at her, seemed to realise where he was for the first time. “What’s going on?”

“We’re at Steed’s,” Purdey told him, pointing at the manor house to illustrate her point. “He’s waiting. Do you need a moment?”

Gambit sat up a little straighter, looking self-conscious. “I’m okay,” he said, a little too quickly, pulling down the sunvisor to get a quick look at the state he was in. He wasn’t dishevelled, but Purdey knew from the way he winced at his appearance that he could see the same telltale signs of strain she could. He folded the visor back up with unseemly haste. “Let’s go,” he said to Purdey, with a certain amount of resignation that told her he knew he wasn’t going to be able to fool Steed anymore than he could her.

Steed was seated in the living room when they entered, poring over a stack of files. He looked up as they approached, smiled cheerily. Purdey smiled back, feeling a little tightness leave her shoulders. There was something infinitely reassuring about Steed, and it was a relief to have another person to keep an eye on Gambit. “Good morning!” he greeted, rising to his feet to welcome them inside. “I appreciate your driving all the way out to the country this morning. I couldn’t see myelf arriving in London before noon, I’m afraid.” Purdey’s smile turned conspiratorial. She suspected Steed’s request to have the meeting at the stud farm had less to with accommodating his schedule, and more to do with accommodating the fragile Gambit, sparing him the necessity of fobbing off curious comments from fellow agents. Her theory was all but confirmed as the next words left Steed’s mouth, “As you can see, we’ve rather a lot of files to work our way through if we’re to untangle Martin’s movements over the last decade. Gambit!” Gambit snapped to attention, dragged back from the darkness of the past into the present. “You’ve had rather a lot of experience combing through the files. Why don’t you make a start while I make us some coffee? Purdey.” He turned to her, eyes serious above the fixed smile. “Would you assist me?”

“Of course,” Purdey agreed, flashing Gambit a reassuring smile as she followed Steed to the kitchen. She was reluctant to leave Gambit alone, but Steed’s invitation had had the inflexibility of an order behind it. All the same, she waited until Gambit was ensconced in the couch with a file in his lap before slipping into the kitchen.

Steed was already busily making the coffee when she entered. He looked up from his preparations as Purdey leaned against the counter beside him. “How is he?” he inquired.

“He’ll be all right,” Purdey sighed, crossing her arms self-consciously. “Or so he says.”

“You don’t believe him?” Steed set the coffee brewing.

“I do,” Purdey decided, after a moment. “But I think it’ll take longer for him to be okay than he wants me to believe. He had a rough night.”

“I’ve a shrewd suspicion he wasn’t the only one.” Steed was looking at her with the same concerned, evaluative expression she suspected she was using on Gambit. “How are you feeling?”

“I didn’t get my beauty sleep, but I’ll survive,” Purdey confessed, then added, softly, “He told me the whole story, Steed. I knew we must have a past, but I had no idea he’d been through anything so…terrible.” She shook her head in stunned disbelief, glad to be vocalising her feelings to someone she didn’t have to protect. “I couldn’t leave him after he told me about it, even though he kept telling me I could. I sat with him all night, watching him sleep and trying to calm him down when the nightmares hit.” She chose her words carefully, not letting on that she’d been in the bed with Gambit, nor that her sleeping with him was a common occurrence. She thought that the extenuating circumstances more than justified extra intimacy without necessarily admitting it went further. “I’ve never seen him quite like that, Steed. He came apart completely.”

Steed nodded sombrely. “We all have our dark nights full of ghosts,” he said, and Purdey knew they weren’t just talking about Gambit, knew that Steed had countless stories like Gambit’s that he had elected not to share. “What surprises me is that he let you stay.”

Purdey frowned in disbelief. “I wondered that he didn’t let you. You knew all about Africa. I thought you must have sat with him at some point. But he kept saying he’d always been on his own…” She trailed off, the unasked question still making itself known, even without the words to give it substance.

Steed shook his head as he retrieved the coffee cups. “Gambit told me his story under duress. We were locked up in a cell-like space, and he started having flashbacks. I was there, and there was nothing to do to ward off the fear and keep him together but to tell me the whole tale.” He turned the cups over on the saucers with a sigh. “I did offer to sit with him in 1975, but we’d hit rather a rough patch at that point, and I don’t think he felt he could trust me to let me see him at his weakest.” He sighed. “I don’t entirely blame him, but I did what I could. I let him leave early the day before, and assigned him to the sort of work we’re doing today—undemanding—the next day. I might also have sat outside his flat for a period, just to make sure he was all right.” He transferred the cup to a tray with practised ease. “I think my attempts to help him might have been the first step to our eventual reconciliation, although your arrival undoubtedly sped things up a bit.” He flashed a brief, appreciative smile in Purdey’s direction. “It’s a measure of the esteem that he holds you in that he both confided in you willingly and without forcing you to leave after the fact.”

“Yes,” Purdey acknowledged with a sigh. “It’s one of the few times he let himself be taken care of without a fight, which says something.”

“I thought the same when he didn’t object to my treating him with kid gloves,” Steed agreed.

“ ‘He’ can hear you, you know.” Gambit was suddenly stood in the doorway, looking weary, file in hand. Purdey and Steed shifted guiltily, realising they’d been well and truly caught out. “I know you mean well, but I’ll be all right. I’m not a complete basketcase. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“And distracted,” Steed pointed out mildly.

“And on edge,” Purdey put in, arms still crossed, this time defiantly. “You don’t have to pretend that everything’s all right just because it’s the morning after, you know. You admitted needing my help last night. You’re not fooling anyone by switching back to your usual stubborn, ‘I’m always fine’ mantra. It does get old after awhile.”

Gambit deflated a little at her words, slumping against the doorway as though he needed the support. “I just want to go back to normal,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sooner I do, sooner I quit thinking about—“

“I know,” Purdey cut in quickly. She was well-aware from her own experiences that vocalising what happened only made it all the more real. Gambit needed his memories to fade away like the nightmares they were. “And they will. But if you keep pushing yourself so hard, you’ll only wind up exhausted and less able to cope than you are already.” She looked to Steed, who nodded slightly in encouragement. “So why don’t we go back to the living room and spend a very boring day looking through files?” She moved to Gambit’s side, looped her arm though his. “Steed’ll bring the coffee. And if you’re very good, I might make you an omelette for lunch.” She nudged his shoulder conspiratorially. “I’ll even leave out the marshmallows from yours.”

Gambit’s mouth quirked up slightly on one side. “Okay,” he said with obvious relief. The effort to shore himself up had already added a line or two to his face. “But I’m holding you to that promise on the marshmallows.”

Purdey patted his arm reassuringly. “That’s the spirit. More for me and Steed.” She caught Steed’s alarmed, arched eyebrow and shrugged carelessly. “Well, you’re not the one with the personal crisis.”

“I’ll bear that in mind for future omelettes,” Steed said wryly, shooing his two younger compatriots from the kitchen. “I’ll be there with the coffee in a moment. And Gambit?” Gambit turned expectantly from where Purdey was trying to steer him out the door. “I know you need something to take your mind off everything, but the work will go much faster if you don’t look for my name in every report.”

“Come on, Steed,” Gambit said, with a little of his usual mischief sparkling in his eye. “I need all the distractions I can get. And you always make for good reading—or at least a laugh.”

“You need help all right,” Purdey said in mild exasperation, practically dragging Gambit from the room, leaving Steed to smile and shake his head.

vvv

“That was a boring day,” Purdey sighed, as they pulled out of Steed’s driveway to start the journey back to London.

Gambit was seated serenely in the passenger seat. “Yeah,” he conceded. “Nicely boring, though. Peaceful. And the omelette was good.” 

“I did tell you,” Purdey said triumphantly.

“About what? The omelette or the boring day?”

“Both.” Purdey changed gears. “I told you it was what you needed. You’re so stubborn about not accepting help and being stoic all the time. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that you’re not all right, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Gambit conceded. “You’re not going to let me forget about admitting needing a break, are you?’

“Would I be a very good partner if I did?” Purdey pointed out, flashing him a brilliant smile.

“I never said you weren’t,” Gambit pointed out. “You’re a brilliant partner in every sense of the word. And that’s why I think you ought to sleep in your own flat tonight.”

“What?” Purdey nearly swerved off the road, head whipping around in outrage. “I should have known your flattery came with a price. What ridiculous reason are you going to come up with this time?”

“The road!” Gambit pointed through the windscreen, and Purdey straightened the car out impatiently.

“Oh, don’t be a mother hen,” she snapped. “You need me with you tonight. Someone has to keep you from falling apart at the seams.”

“And you did that last night,” Gambit allowed, tearing his eyes away from the road by sheer force of will. “But you didn’t get much sleep, either. And if you stay with me, you won’t get any tonight, either. So for your sake, you need me to be out sight and out of mind.”

Purdey’s mouth twisted angrily. “I don’t think that that’s going to be possible, whether I can see you or not. I’m still going to worry.”

“You shouldn’t,” Gambit soothed. “I’ll be all right, Purdey. The next night is always easier. I’ve come out the other side. I’ll sleep better, and you deserve to, too. But if you’re with me, I know you’ll be lying there waiting for me to start screaming bloody murder.” He tilted his head, eyes beseechingly persuasive. “Come on, Purdey-girl. You took good care of me. Let me at least try to return the favour.”

Purdey looked uncertain, but the yawn she tried to stifle only served to reinforce his point. “You’re certain you’ll be all right?”

Gambit smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be all right.”

“Do you promise?” Purdey was looking hard at him now.

“I promise,” Gambit vowed. “And you know I always keep my promises.”

“Well, all right,” Purdey relented after a moment. “If you promise. But if I find you in pieces tomorrow morning, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’ll try to stay intact,” Gambit assured, settling back to enjoy the rest of the ride back to the city, satisfied he’d seen to Purdey and gone some small way toward thanking her for her forbearance in the past 24 hours.

But when Purdey pulled up in front of his building and switched off the motor, and she was still regarding him with a measure of her earlier uncertainty. “You’re sure you’ll be all right? It’s not too late for me to come with you.”

“I’m going to be fine,” Gambit promised. “And so are you. But it’s best for both of us if we get some sleep.”

“If you say so,” Purdey sighed, accepting Gambit’s kiss as he leaned across the console. “Of course, if we didn’t sleep, it might not be an entirely bad thing. We could always find another way to fill the time.”

Gambit chuckled throatily. “I’d take you up on that if I thought we both wouldn’t collapse from exhaustion halfway through,” he said truthfully. “But ask me again when we’ve both had some kip, and I’ll make it up to you.”

“Do you promise?” Purdey’s eyes were glittering wickedly.

“I promise. And I’ll definitely keep that one sooner rather than later.” He leaned in and kissed her once more, this time longer, deeper, then broke away. “I’d better go before you charm your way into my bed.”

“I’m very persuasive,” Purdey said cheekily.

“Yes.” Gambit was remembering something, but judging from the look on his face, it was a good memory, more pleasant than those he’d been revisiting up to that point. She also had a sneaking suspicion it involved her. “Sleep well, love.”

Purdey’s grin turned fond. “You, too,” she said softly, watching him go almost wistfully. She waited until he disappeared into his building before starting up the engine. “Sweet dreams, Mike Gambit. Heaven knows you could use them.”


	9. Aftershocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \------------------------------

Four days later, Gambit opened his front door, and was immediately overwhelmed with cooking odours. “Purdey,” he identified, even before the blonde’s head appeared above the counter from where she’d been rummaging in one of the cupboards. “What a surprise. Or it would be, if you hadn’t made dinner here the last three nights.”

Purdey put her hands on her hips. “You don’t have to sound so unhappy about it,” she accused, as Gambit closed the door behind him and crossed to her.

“I’m not unhappy,” Gambit corrected, leaving his keys on the end of the counter and stepping in to give her a quick kiss. “You know I’m always happy to see you,” he added, voice dropping in pitch, eyes ever-so-slightly hooded. “But you don’t have to bring a three course meal with you every time,” he went on, surveying the scones cooling on the windowsill. “We’ve been working flat out all week, and you’ve been cooking up a storm every evening.” He moved one of his hands from where they rested on her waist to the small of her back, rubbed it sympathetically. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’ve been sleeping quite well, thank you,” Purdey stated pertly, breaking out of his embrace and turning her attention to a pot on the stove. “And I have excellent stamina. You should know that by now.”

“I do,” Gambit allowed, dipping a finger in the pot and sucking the contents from his skin appreciatively. “Doesn’t mean you’re not entitled to a break.”

“I’ll take one. Eventually,” Purdey said firmly, prodding him in the stomach with the end of her wooden spoon. “Once I’m sure that you’ve put on some of the weight that you lost.” Gambit ducked his head apologetically, rubbing the spot she’d jabbed, and her hostility ebbed away. “Did you eat anything at all when you were in Scotland?” she asked softly, as though almost afraid of the question itself, let alone the answer. Gambit could see the worry in her eyes as she bit her lip anxiously, and sighed.

“Well, I admit didn’t overindulge. Or indulge at all, really. But you’re more than making up for it,” he told her, trying to smile away her fears. “At this rate, there’s going to be too much of me to love. I’ll have to step up my workouts.”

“Better than nothing at all,” Purdey said tartly, shoulders tense as she turned to the cutting board and commenced violently chopping vegetables.

Gambit’s face, which had been doing a remarkable job of keeping itself uplifted, fell as it surveyed the muscles gathered in her back. “You’ve never been worried about my waistline before,” he said diffidently. “No reason to start now.” Purdey ignored him, kept chopping. “Why don’t we go out, at least?” he tried. 

“I’m not sure we’re up to that,” Purdey replied, chopping unceasing.

“We’re not,” Gambit asked knowingly. “Or I’m not?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Purdey scraped the diced vegetables to one side, grabbed a carrot and started in on it with murderous intent. “I’ve already started. We can go out some other time.”

“We could always order in. Let you relax.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Purdey…” Gambit stepped in close behind her, rested both hands on her waist, buried his face in her hair, murmured the pleading words, “Purdey, please. Stop.”

He could feel her take a shaky breath, but she still dragged the knife across the board, clearing it for more vegetables to follow in its wake. “Purdey.” Gambit gently stilled her chopping hand with his, while his other hand rested, warm and reassuring, on her hip. “Can we talk for a minute?” His hand gently guided hers to rest the implement, carefully, beside the cutting board. Without the chopping to attend to, there was no excuse to avoid his gaze, and she turned around reluctantly in his arms, eyes big, saucer-sized. “Now,” he said gently, patiently. “What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m making dinner,” she tried.

Gambit smiled a little at her ability to deflect and make the other side seem as though they were the ones behaving oddly, even in a serious moment such as this. “I can see that. But I think there’s a little more to it than you just wanting to feed me up.” Purdey, uncharacteristically, didn’t say anything, so Gambit carried on. “I know you’re only trying to take care of me,” he murmured, not unkindly. “Feeding me up and keeping an eye on me, not leaving me on my own or making any demands. You’ve even been taking on more than your share of the work at the Ministry, even though I keep telling you and Steed that I can manage.” He sighed. “I know you mean well, but you’re treating me like I’m made of glass, and I’m not.” He looked intently into her eyes. “I’m okay, Purdey. Really I am.”

Purdey was searching his face, anxiety tugging the corners of her mouth down. “Are you?” she pressed, before she bowed her head, hiding her eyes beneath her fringe.

Gambit regarded her blonde crown with a mixture of grim anxiety and pain. “Purdey, one of the reasons—the main reason—I was afraid to tell you about what happened to me was because I was worried that it would change how you looked at me. That you’d only ever see me as some damaged, broken man that need taking care of, and nothing more.” He paused a moment, working his jaw, choosing his next words carefully. “Is that how you feel now?”

Purdey’s head shot up in surprise. “No!” she exclaimed in outrage, eyes burning with offence.

But Gambit wasn’t about to be frightened into submission. “Then why cook all the dinners, then sit here watching me eat every night?” His eyebrows slanted downward, making him look for all the world like a sad little boy. “And why won’t you touch me?” he wanted to know, in a voice close to cracking. “And I don’t mean when you check my temperature or try to work out if my suit’s fitting too loose. You’re always looking at me, assessing, but I feel like you’re doing it at a distance. You’ve cut me off.”

Purdey looked horrified. “I haven’t!”

“Then what’s going on, because it sure as hell feels like it.” Gambit hadn’t meant that last bit to sound so harsh, but the emotions had been building in what was already an emotional week, and he was having trouble keeping them all in check. Usually he’d just bear it all stoically, but that inevitably led to the walls coming up. He didn’t want there to be walls between him and Purdey, but he felt as though she were building one of her own volition.

Purdey looked as though she were ready to cry. “I haven’t,” she protested again, eyes bright. “How could you ever accuse me of that?” she demanded angrily. “I love you!”

“And I believe you,” Gambit tried to soothe. He didn’t want to make her cry, but he was feeling ragged around the edges himself. “But I’m also worried that all you see when you look at me is a broken invalid.”

Purdey’s eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t you dare accuse me of seeing you as nothing but a charity case, Mike Gambit!” she snapped, almost incandescent with indignation. “What I’m doing is no different than what you’ve done for me, heaven knows how many times when I’ve been hurt, which is to take care of you until you’re back up to full strength. The only difference is that you’ve been very good about giving, but not very good at being at the receiving end, self-sacrificing idiot that you are.”

Gambit looked uncertain. “So you don’t see me as irretrievably broken?”

Purdey shook her head impatiently. “I see you as hurt,” she specified. “And when you’ve been hurt, you need to time to recover. It doesn’t mean you’re damaged for life, just temporarily not up to full strength.” She arched a sceptical eyebrow. “Or do you always see me as a lost cause every time I have some sort of personal disaster?”

“No!” It was Gambit’s turn to look outraged, but his expression softened as fast as it had appeared as he realised that Purdey’s logic was irrefutably sound, and he’d been beaten at his own game. “I, uh, guess I’m not good at being taken care of,” he admitted. “Not a lot of practice.”

“And I’m trying to change that,” Purdey said gently, laying a hand aside his face. She took a sanity-inducing breath, aware that she was as emotionally raw as he was. “Like when you get hurt on the job, and you need a little looking after. It doesn’t define how I see you. But for a little while, until you’re back on your feet, I want to do what I can to help yourecover.”

“Oh, Purdey,” Gambit said tenderly. “You’ve already done that.”

“Have I?” Purdey’s lip was trembling. “Because if I didn’t do absolutely everything I could to make you better, Mike Gambit, I’d never forgive myself.” She sighed and dropped her hands to his chest. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed…distant. I didn’t want you to feel pressured to give anything emotionally or physically until you were up to it. I thought you’d tell me when you were feeling better.” She smiled, a little crookedly. “And now I suppose you are. I didn’t want to rush you, that’s all.” She looked him hard in the eye. “But I don’t only see you as broken, Mike Gambit. I know how strong you are—and how stubborn. I always knew you’d recover, and then we could carry on. But I didn’t want you to have to be strong for me.” 

“Sorry,” Gambit apologised, mouth quirking up on one side, feeling more like a fool by the minute. “Now I feel like a prize idiot.”

“My prize idiot,” Purdey qualified. “But yes.”

Gambit gave her one of those rueful looks that said, ‘Thanks ever so,’ but said instead, “But I am feeling better. Really. You don’t have to do all this.” He gestured vaguely at the half-finished dinner, including the cutting board that bore more than a few extra marks from Purdey’s violent assault.

Purdey smiled bravely. “I hope so. Because I don’t like to see you hurting, Mike Gambit.”

“I’m not,” Gambit insisted, leaning into her gently, running a finger along the curve of her jaw. “And you’re not definitely not hurting me by touching me.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m still not made of glass.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that,” Purdey promised, smile relieved as well as wry, “the next time you fuss over me.”

“Fuss? Me?” Gambit said with self-mocking knowingness. His hands wended their way around her waist. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Purdey threw her head back and laughed. “Mike Gambit,” she said with knowing fondness. “You really are irrepressible, and I’ve never been more grateful for it.”

“And I’ve never been more grateful to see you smile,” Gambit admitted, not bothering to hide his relief, ducking his head to touch noses with her. “Oh, Purdey, Purdey, I’ve missed having you in my arms. Without me being a trembling wreck, that is.”

“That makes two of us,” Purdey agreed, taking a deep cleansing breath in through her nose, eyes sliding closed as she let his body take her weight for the first time in what felt like forever. Gambit seemed to sense her weariness. 

“Have you slept proerply since that night?”

Purdey hesitated, and Gambit could tell she was considering whether or not to edit her response to prevent him from feeling guilty about it. Then she seemed to remember what Gambit had said about not being fragile, and relented. “Well, I’ve not been lying awake around the clock, but I haven’t exactly been getting my beauty sleep, either.”

Gambit pulled away slightly so he could assess her visage. “You could have fooled me.”

Purdey preened slightly under the flattery. “Mike Gambit, you do know how to charm a woman, don’t you?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Gambit replied with a wink, taking a step back but hanging onto her hands. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a break. Forget dinner. Put your feet up.”

“If I leave dinner to you, we really will forget about,” Purdey predicted, but let Gambit lead her to the couch anyway. “Or are you going to finish it?”

“I’m not completely hopeless when it comes to cooking, you know,” Gambit defended, touching the button to activate the couch mechanism. “I had to cook aboardship, remember. And clean. I’m very domesticated. So I’m actually good in the kitchen.”

“Yes, I know,” Purdey parried, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. “Particularly when I’m up on the counter.”

“Now that was an afternoon to remember,” Gambit said wistfully, clearly delighted by her cheekiness. “I hope I’m not only good in the kitchen, but I am interested in where your mind is.” He settled onto the edge of the bed, beckoned Purdey to join him. She did so gratefully, never releasing his hand, flushing a little as she did so. “And I think it’s in the same place as mine.”

Purdey ducked her head as she sat down, avoiding his gaze. “I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you didn’t feel up to,” she demurred, feeling her earlier anxiety resurface.

Gambit put a finger under her chin and gently raised her head to meet his eyes. “I’m definitely interested,” he told her, quite seriously. And then, not as seriously, “And definitely up for it.”

Purdey snorted slightly at the bad joke, but her eyes were shining in a cautious, hopeful way, her lips parting slightly, as though anticipating a kiss. Gambit’s eyes flicked down to her pout, then back up to her eyes. “May I?” he queried, voice dropping an octave. 

Purdey shuddered deliciously, eyes fluttering shut. “Please,” she said, with a voice suddenly hoarse with longing. “But you take the lead. So I’ll know what you’re up for.”

Gambit’s lips curled into a sly smile. “That’s a dangerous licence to grant.”

Purdey’s breath caught in her throat. “I don’t mind living dangerously,” she managed. “As long as you’re all right.”

“Yes, well, we’re both coming off being a bit rattled,” he pointed out, “so let’s give each other a lot of leeway, okay?”

She nodded a little too frantically in agreement, then smiled ruefully at her own eagerness. “This feels rather like our first night together. Taking it slow, I mean.”

“Nothing wrong with taking it slow,” Gambit said reasonably. “And I don’t mind reliving our first night together at all…” He ducked his head to meet her lips, but she was already coming up to meet him, and their mouths sealed together in a passionate kiss, one born of bruised souls and a need to heal.

They carried on for a moment, embrace gradually becoming tighter and more entwined, until Purdey drew Gambit further onto the bed, and he responded by pressing her gently to the mattress. As she parted her legs automatically to allow Gambit’s hips to cradle between them, she sensed a certain hesitation as her thighs moulded to his form.

“How do I feel?” he asked softly, pulling his lips from hers long enough to ask.

Purdey arched a reproving eyebrow. “Mike Gambit, if you’re fishing for compliments…”

“Not that,” Gambit sighed in mild exasperation. “Although feel free to comment. But I meant my hips. Or are you not trying to work out how bony they are?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Purdey protested, then, catching Gambit’s sceptical expression, added, “Well, I wasn’t only thinking of that.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Gambit replied sceptically, sitting up on his knees and shrugging off his suit jacket. “The sooner I get naked, the better, then. Then you can satisfy yourself that I’m not about to perish of malnourishment.”

“I’m sure that’s your only motivation,” Purdey said wryly, eyes hooded sceptically. She caught his tie and tugged to bring him back down to her. “And quit shedding layers on your own. That’s my job.”

“Then I promise not to spoil your fun,” Gambit vowed, pushing her skirt up her thighs so he could grasp the bare flesh and better the fit between their bodies. 

“Anyway, I haven’t been only been looking at you like I’m worried about you,” Purdey went on, loosening his tie as she did so.

Gambit cocked his head inquisitively. “Meaning?” he inquired, as Purdey pulled the tie up and over his head, laughing a little at the way it caught on Gambit’s nose in the process and sent it twitching.

“I mean,” she explicated, turning her attention to the buttons on his waistcoat, “that you’ve been assuming that you telling me what happened to you could only change the way I looked at you in a negative way.” She pushed the garment off his shoulders, hands skimming deliciously over the silk lining the back as she went. “I know that negative thinking is your default mindset,” she went on, as between them they managed to maneuver Gambit’s arms out of the armholes, “but did it ever occur to you that it might make me admire you even more?”

Gambit’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline in pleasant surprise. “Admire? Are you feeling all right?”

“Possibly not. Normally I try to keep your ego in check, not pump it up,” Purdey pointed out wryly, concentrating on pulling his shirt from his trousers while taking great care not to reveal any flesh. She was going to have to work her way up to seeing him shirtless. She’d somehow contrived to not see Gambit unclothed since the morning after he’d told her his story. It pained her to see him so thin, so fragile, literally consumed by his torment. Even though she’d spent every night at his flat since, sat beside him until he fell asleep, they’d always wound up talking so late into the evening that they fell asleep in their clothes. The next morning, Gambit would confine his changes of clothes to the bathroom or bedroom at the back of the flat, while Purdey either busied herself with making coffee until he reemerged or, if she was feeling particularly fragile, fled to her flat. She suspected Gambit was somewhat compliant in keeping himself clad around her, sensitive to the distress his dimished physicality caused her, even if she hadn’t said as much, and he hadn’t asked. But Gambit doing what was needed without comment or complaint was hardly unusual—the man would do anything within his power to save those he cared about from anguish. “But as these are exceptional circumstances, I’ll make an exception.”

“This should be good.” Gambit was regarding her expectantly, pulling away slightly to undo his shirt cuffs before they posed an obstacle. “I’m listening.” 

Purdey left the shirt aside for a moment in favour of cupping his face in her hands and just looking at him, really looking. At the blue-green eyes that shifted in the lamplight, sparkling beneath the enviably long eyelashses, the fond curve of the lips, the curls tumbling onto his forehead where she’d disturbed them, the undeniable look of tenderness and love written across his features, even as he waited in anticipation of what she would say.

“I was in awe,” she breathed, almost more to herself than to him. “In admiration,” she added, as though the sentiment wasn’t clear enough. “That you could go through such terrible things, and still be so kind.” She stroked her thumbs over his cheeks, touch so gentle he nearly melted then and there. “So strong.” Her fingers crept down to his lips, thumbing over their pouted contours. “So loyal. So committed to doing the right thing, and to serving something bigger, even though the last time you tried to serve, they betrayed your trust so badly. It could have made you selfish, or cruel, or uncaring. But you came out of it still funny, still warm, still loving, still kind. Still a good friend, a good partner…” Her mouth quirked up on one side. “A good man…”

“That’s a lot of praise to heap on bloke at once,” Gambit said softly, mouth canting up on one side to mirror hers. He felt her hands slide down his jaw, over his neck, to his collar. “Probably not all of it deserved.”

“Oh?” Purdey queried, eyes temporarily leaving his as she undid the top button of his shirt. “Where do you think I went wrong?”

“You know as well as I do that I can be cold,” Gambit pointed out, eyes fluttering close as Purdey worked her way down his torso, one button at a time, exposing flesh without ever touching it. “Clinical. Professional. A killer.”

He expected the laundry list to at least rattle Purdey, but the steady progress down his shirt never so much as stuttered. “So can I,” she said simply. “And don’t bother saying that it’s different, because it isn’t. We need to be that way when the situation calls for it. Otherwise we’d be terrible at our jobs.”

Gambit popped an eye open, but Purdey was focussed on her work and didn’t meet his gaze. “I think I’ve had a bit more practice,” he pointed out.

“You’ve gone through more…extreme situations, yes,” Purdey agreed, reaching the bottom of his shirt, but holding the two halves of the fabric closed and away from his body, so she couldn’t see or feel the contours of his frame. “But it isn’t the years of experience that matter, Mike. It’s how you reacted. You’ve been put in impossible situations, and you’ve done the best you could. But you’re not a sadist. You don’t enjoy killing or inflicting pain. You don’t seek it out. But what you don’t have is a tolerance for evil, and those that do hurt and kill for their own pleasure. Even then, you won’t kill them unless you have to, unless there aren’t any other options. But if that’s all there is, you’ll do what has to be done.” She shrugged with a casualness that belied the topic of conversation. “I think I’m much the same. So is Steed. It’s a moral code we all live with. But it comes through being a good man. And I know you’re a good man, Mike Gambit, when you strip all the layers away.” 

With that, she threw his shirt open, pushing it down his arms in one smooth motion, laying his body as bare to her as his heart and soul. Gambit drew in a ragged breath at the act, then another as Purdey pressed her palms to his chest, sought out the beat of his heart. “You fought them, Mike,” she whispered, tenderly, gently. “You fought what they tried to make you do. You fought what they tried to turn you into. Everyone was against you, and you never let them change you, never let them force you to do something for anything but the right reasons.” She smiled up at him, eyes shining. “You think that story made me think you were weak. But it only reaffirmed how strong you are.” She finally looked down at his body, felt her smile turn to one of relief. “And you’re getting stronger all the time.” 

He was, too. His body revealed that he’d been eating, and she knew he was training properly again, something she suspected had gone by the wayside when he was in Scotland. She thought back to the year before, hadn’t noticed him losing quite so much weight then. But then she suspected that he’d worked himself into more of a lather this year as he tried to work out when—how—to tell her, all while trying to maintain the façade of normality as their increased closeness left him fewer places to hide. She batted the thoughts away—Gambit had been frightened, understandably so, to tell her about what had happened, but next year he’d have no such fears, and she could guide him through the process with much more equanimity. She’d already vowed to herself that it would be so. The best thing she could do now was to continue to show him how much she loved him.

“Much stronger,” she repeated, running her hands over his body appreciatively as he savoured her touch. He was still a little thinner than normal, she could tell, but his ribs were more obscured than they had been, and his muscles were strong and supple, fed rather than deprived. She looked up just as his eyes opened, and smiled up into them. “How do you feel?” she inquired, fingers drawing delicious patterns across his skin.

She was rewarded by that familiar glint in his eyes that had seemingly been absent for an eternity. “Like I said,” he rumbled, shifting meaningfully above her. “I’m feeling better.”

Purdey felt her breath catch in her throat as she allowed the first flickers of desire to course through her, untemepered by the fear that she might be asking more than he could give. “Well, then, Mike Gambit,” she said breathily. “Why don’t you show me?”

She knew he was okay, regardless of what he’d said, when his hands went to work, and they were confident, not shaky. By the way he pulled her gently upright and drew the zipper at the back of her dress down with excruciating slowness. By the way he slid the garment off her shoulders and took full advantage of the fall of the cloth by putting his hands and his mouth anywhere and everywhere. By the way he drew the stockings slowly down her legs, one at a time, while she laid sprawled on the bed, content to watch him at work and luxuriate in the sensations he was eliciting. By the quick, dextrous movements he used to relieve of her undergarments, coupled with the ghosting of clever fingers against her flesh as he went. By the easy way he stretched comfortably out beneath her to give her room to work as she did the honours of removing his trousers, socks, and boots. And if what followed was any indication, then Purdey was quite certain that Gambit was, unquestionably, feeling like himself.

vvv

“All right,” she sighed contentedly sometime later, curling up against Gambit with her head resting on his chest. “I believe you. You do feel better.”

Gambit’s chest vibrated beneath her cheek with his hoarse, passion-scratched laugh. “Any part of me in particular, or are you talking about the whole package?”

“Mike,” Purdey groaned, but without much vitriol. She reached down and gently pushed the sheet, which had settled around his waist, a little farther down until she could see his hip, the same one that she’d found the mystery scar on sometime ago that he wouldn’t talk about. She understood his reticence now. She idly traced his hipbone—also less prominent than it had been, but still visible. But then Gambit’s hips never completely hid away, being something of a work of art in Purdey’s eyes, perfectly sculpted to be exquisite in shape when seen in all their glory, and devastingly slim in silhouette. They were a treat for the eyes and the fingertips, she decided, as she came to the end of one curve and started to slowly, leisurely trace a different path. “It’s good to have you back.”

Gambit’s eyes were closed, torn between the tranquil doze that was settling over him, and the path of Purdey’s fingers that were urging his pelvis to jerk upward a fraction of an inch in response to her touch. “Good to be back,” he murmured huskily. He opened one eye and regarded her hopefully. “I think we’re going to be okay.”

“More than okay,” Purdey opined, leaving off his hip in favour of tending to the other end of him, drawing lazy lines across his jaw. “I think we’re going to be maginificent. As usual.”

“At least one of us is,” Gambit concurred, hugging her a little closer, jaw muscles shifting her fingers slightly with his smile. “Sorry about your dinner, though,” he added, trying to twist slightly to see the state of the abandoned meal. “Is it a total loss?”

“My cooking? Never,” Purdey asserted grandly. “Just be grateful that I remembered to turn off the stove. Otherwise you’d have worse things to worry about than a spoiled dinner. Your flat burning down, for one.”

“I could always move in with you,” Gambit suggested, looking quite cheerful at the prospect. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You say that now,” Purdey countered, amused. “But when you see how much space you’d have in my closet, you might change your mind.”

“Not much of a problem if all my clothes go up with it,” Gambit teased. “Those things I have at yours might end up being the sum total of my worldly possessions.”

“In that case, I suppose it could be worse,” Purdey mused. “At the very least, it’d get rid of some of your terrible statuary.”

“I thought you liked my art!”

“Just because I don’t yank it off the wall wheneve I’m here, it doesn’t mean that I love it,” Purdey countered, sitting up and moving to straddle him. Gambit watched her curiously.

“Is this where you seduce me to get me to throw away all my artworks?”

“No,” Purdey said simply, bending to kiss him. “This is where I seduce you and hope you come to your senses on your own.”

“Not a good strategy.” Gambit’s eyes were dancing. “Even you’re not that good.”

“We’ll see about that,” Purdey challenged, settling more squarely on Gambit’s lithe frame. “I can be very persuasive.”

“And no one knows that better than I,” Gambit said confidently, enjoying the natural ease with which the words tripped down his tongue, following the well-worn path where they had been quoted before. “This feels good.”

Purdey arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re feeling, Mike Gambit, but I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You’ve done plenty,” Gambit contradicted gently. “And now that we’re here, being us, I’ve never been so grateful for it.”

Purdey put her head to one side. “If by us, you mean carrying on about anything and everything, then so have I.” She leaned down and whispered, almost conspiratorially, “There are very few things I’d rather do than have a conversation with you, Mike Gambit.”

Gambit glowed at the compliment, but his lips couldn’t help but say, “Now I want to know what the few things are that top me.”

“Oh, honestly, your ego,” Purdey sighed, looking heavenward. “I’ll rephrase. There are some things that tie having a conversation with you, and yes, some of them involve you.” She shook her head in self-reporach. “I sometimes think that you dreamt up this whole scenario, just to get me to say nice things about you.”

“Even I’m not that desperate,” Gambit said with a shudder that rattled through her as well as him, and Purdey instantly regretted bringing up his trauma. He seemed to sense her trepidation, and added quickly, “I’ll bet one of those things is a good meal. Want to try to salvage your dinner?”

She smiled lovingly down at him. “Yes,” she agreed. “Eventually.” She reached down and drew back the sheet. “But I’d rather do something else first.”

“I really must be at the top of your list if you’re willing to put food on hold for me,” Gambit opined, as Purdey revealed the whole of his naked body.

“I am rather fond of a well-cooked meal,” Purdey concurred, leaning down so she could brush his hair back from his forehead. “But I know that there are some things that are even more important.” 

Gambit was regarding her with an almost shy half-smile. “Are you sure about that?”

“Very sure,” Purdey said softly, but with an underlying conviction that brooked no argument. Not that Gambit had any intention of making one, but Purdey proceeded to prove her point anyway, and quite successfully, as the food on the stovetop cooled beyond even the rehabilitative qualities of her culinary prowess.


	10. A New Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \--------

The phone rang.

No one stirred.

Another ring punctured the tranquility of the flat.

There was a soft groan.

Three times. That did it. The lump beneath the blankets came to drowsy life. Well, half of it did. The half closer to the phone. The other half remained stubbornly still.

“Mike,” Purdey mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Move your arm. I can’t reach the phone.”

Gambit opened one blue-green eye and fixed it upon her face, which she had pulled away from the pleasantly warm sanctuary of his chest. She was squinting at him blearily, and he couldn’t tell if the way she had her face scrunched up was due to his uncooperative attitude or her eyes not focusing very well in the early light of the day. 

“Good morning to you, too,” he told the pillow.

“Mike, the phone,” Purdey reminded impatiently.

“Probably not important,” he dismissed.

Purdey really did scowl this time. “I didn’t know you’d acquired mind-reading powers,” she said sarcastically. “It might be important.”

“If it is, they’ll call back,” Gambit reasoned, “at a humane time, not—“ He lifted his arm out from beneath the covers, glanced at his watch, and screwed up his face in annoyance when his sleep-deprived brain registered the time. “--6:30. What sort of sadist calls at 6:30?”

“One of our official Ministry sadists, no doubt,” Purdey said knowingly. “I’m answering one way or another. Whether or not your arm is in one piece or three when I do is up to you.”

“And you say I’m not a morning person,” Gambit muttered, but obliged her by lifting his arm so she could squirm out from under it. The ringing was grating on him, anyway. And he hadn’t had his coffee yet. Neither of those facts was doing much for his mood. He felt Purdey disentangle herself from him with vague regret and rolled over onto his stomach, grabbing his pillow and clamping it over the dark curls in an attempt to block out the ringing and go back to sleep.

Purdey shook her head at his stubbornness. She wasn’t going to accept Gambit’s assessment of her mood in the early hours—not without a fight, anyway—but Gambit definitely wasn’t a morning person, that much was certain. She couldn’t help but grin at the pair of hands clutching the pillow, hands she was quite fond of, particularly when she could feel them in action. She pulled her gaze away from what she could see of Gambit with difficulty and finally lifted the shrilling telephone’s receiver from its cradle.

“Hello?”

“Purdey? I was about to give up and try again in a quarter of an hour.” The voice was familiar and entirely too chipper for how Purdey was feeling at that moment.

“Steed,” Purdey sighed knowingly, and watched in amusement as Gambit lifted his makeshift barrier and arched an eyebrow at hearing the identity of their rouser. 

“Tell him his years in the service have made him cruel,” he hissed, and Purdey waved an arm to urge him to be quiet. She was still trying to keep Steed in the dark about their relationship, and so far they seemed to be succeeding. Steed hadn’t intimated to either of them that he had any suspicions, and she was hopeful that meant he was still oblivious to their new dynamic—or at the very least didn’t have any hard evidence to back up whatever hypothesis he might be constructing. 

She sometimes wondered if Steed had actually figured it all out ages ago, and was just letting them stew until the suspense of wondering what he knew got the best of them and they cracked under the strain and confessed all. It would be a very Steed plan, leaving them guessing while he did nothing at all. The fact that it sometimes felt as if it was working was all the more worrying. Still, Purdey was very good at digging her heels in and waiting people out when she was in the mood, and Gambit had turned being effortlessly impenetrable into an art form. Not to mention they’d both had their fill of heartfelt confessionals for the timebeing. But if Steed heard Gambit in her flat while she was still in bed, it would be very difficult to persuade him that there was nothing going on. All the same, Purdey felt herself blush involuntarily at her compromising position, despite the fact that Steed couldn’t see them. Gambit must have noticed because he grinned at her wickedly and propped himself up on an elbow, gesturing for her to move closer so he could eavesdrop on the conversation. 

“It’s just as well you called me instead of Gambit. You know what he’s like before noon,” Purdey quipped pointedly, earning a wry twist of a smile from Gambit in response to the slight, “and without his caffeine. His telephone voice might have been rather hostile.”

She could almost hear Steed smile on the othe end of the line. “I can imagine,” he chuckled. “But whatever mood our errant colleague may be in, I do have a job for you two this morning.”

“Oh?” Purdey sat up a little straighter, letting her back rest against the headboard, and she could feel Gambit snap to attention beside her. 

“Withers. He’s making a pick-up around ten. We’re to be there to cut off his escape route.”

“And catch him red-handed,” Purdey finished, eyes meeting Gambit’s as they relayed their mutual comprehension, both mentally calling up Withers’ file from the dozen or so they were attached to as easily as if it were any of the physical ones populating Finder’s dominion. She settled back onto the bed in a more relaxed position. “Where do you want us?”

Steed went on to describe just where the pick-up was meant to take place, but she missed one or two of the pertinent details because of Gambit, who was suddenly very awake and whose lips had sought out a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. She inhaled sharply, loud enough that Steed halted his monologue about where the two of them should park, and inquired if everything was all right.

“Fine,” Purdey told him, trying her best to keep her voice steady as Gambit’s lips followed a path down onto her shoulder, with a definite intent to go lower. “Sorry, I’m a little drowsy. Could you repeat that last part?”

“Never mind. We’ll have an official briefing in an hour and go over the details then.” There was a pause, and then Steed added, pointedly it seemed to Purdey’s ears, “Unless there’s something else detaining you?”

“Of course not,” Purdey exclaimed, a little too sharply, the probing edge to Steed’s words hinting at a certain amount of suspicion forming at his end, reminding her that they were treading dangerously close to the edge of being discovered. 

“Nothing else that needs seeing to?” Steed pressed. “Another obligation that you’ve forgotten?”

“Nothing at all,” Purdey reassured, gently swatting at Gambit, who seemed determined to blow their cover in the most pleasurable way possible. He grinned unrepentantly up at her, much to her annoyance, but she had to admit that her attempts to dissuade him were rather desultory. Judging from the looks he was giving her, he knew she didn’t particularly want him to leave off, either, which was just as annoying. Mike Gambit was very good at reading her like the proverbial open book, which, at moments like this, proved rather inconvenient.

“You’re quite certain of that?” Steed didn’t sound convinced, and Purdey could tell he was torn between concern for her wellbeing, and suspicion that there was something else of note that she wasn’t telling him. Purdey knew she had to assure him that there was no reason for him to worry about the former, and throw him off the scent regarding the latter.

“I—we,” she corrected, a neat reversal of the sort of slip-up that would normally give the game away, “we’ll be there. I’ll let Gambit know what’s happening. He knows better than to take his early morning hostilities out on me.”

That seemed to assuage both Steed’s concerns and his (potential) suspicions, if the merry laugh he gifted her in return was any indication, and she felt herself relax. “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

“Good-bye, Steed,” Purdey said hurriedly, while she still had some modicum of control over her own voice. She somehow managed to find the telephone’s cradle, and after a few tries clicked the receiver into it, preventing Steed from hearing anything else incriminating should he still be suspicious enough to hang on the line. Then she let her phone hand join the other one in grasping Gambit by the shoulders, to try and pull him back from where he’d ventured, even though she didn’t particularly want to.

“Mike Gambit…” But she was too breathy to sound threatening.

Gambit left off from his ministrations and grinned up at her. “Something wrong?”

“No. That’s the problem,” she retorted, trying not to think about how attractive he looked in the morning with his hair mussed, how warm his body was on this particular morning, when autumn was starting to chill the land. She gave in to her feelings of affection and smiled back at him, toyed with the St. Christopher that dangled around his neck. “But we have business to attend to.”

“I thought I’d made a good start,” Gambit quipped, taking the hand entangled in the chain and kissing it gently.

“Work, Mike,” Purdey reminded, eyes flickering shut with pleasure in spite of herself. “Honestly, I thought after last night you’d be satisfied.”

“I was,” Gambit agreed cheerfully. “But it’s morning now, and since we’re both up, we may as well enjoy ourselves.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I’m a firm believer in starting the day off right.”

Purdey pulled the chain until their foreheads touched. “We have to be at the Ministry in less than an hour,” she told him, quite firmly.

“I heard.”

“Well?”

There was a pause.

“How long does it take you to get ready?” Gambit asked wickedly.

Purdey moved so fast Gambit didn’t know what hit him. All he knew was that suddenly Purdey was on top of him and smiling in that secretive way of hers. She leaned down and kissed him, once, properly. When she pulled away she replied, “I can just imagine what you have planned, Mike Gambit, but I need more than ten minutes to make myself presentable. So we’re going to have to show some restraint. Business before pleasure.” 

Gambit pouted endearingly. “Spoilsport. What am I meant to do while you make yourself more beautiful? Assuming that was possible.”

Purdey preened at the compliment, but didn’t relent. “Go make yourself some coffee while I’m in the shower.” She climbed off of him, and the bed, and made for the bathroom, turned to look back at him just as she reached the door. “If we can’t start the day off right, there’s nothing to say we can’t end it that way.”

Gambit’s grin came back. “Is that a promise?”

Purdey just smiled, subtly coquettish, and stepped inside the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Gambit shook his head and rubbed his face with both hands to wake himself up further, resigning himself to rising early. But it was hard to be too upset about anything when he felt so good. As the pitter-patter of falling water reached his ears, he sat up and climbed out from under the covers, wandering into the living area of Purdey’s flat. He found his trousers where they’d been discarded on the couch the night before, and tugged them on unhurriedly, yawning as he went. All the curtains were still drawn, and it was a basement flat, which meant, unlike his own abode, there were no voyeuristic neighbours in the block across the street to worry about catching him in a state of undress. 

Before he made his way to the kitchen, he spared half a glance at the coffee table. It was covered with dozens of pieces of paper, all laid out in an order that would only make sense to the people who had spent the evening poring over them, making little notations in the margin in red ink. They were accompanied by a pair of wine glasses, both of which were empty. They’d finished them off right before they’d decided that that was enough work for the evening, and the trail of clothes leading to the bed, of which the trousers were but one small part, was a good indicator of where the night had gone from there.

Gambit found the coffee in Purdey’s cupboard, and switched on the coffeemaker he had purchased for her a month or so back, for reasons that were less-than-selfless. But since he’d cleared out a more than generous space in his closet for her, he figured she could spare a spot on her countertop for the appliance that produced his much-needed lifegiving brew.

It had been two weeks since he had told her about the anniversary, had finished his exposition about that dark period of his life. Ever since he’d reassured Purdey that he had recovered from his ordeal and no longer needed to be under constant surveillance lest he fall apart at the seams, she hadn’t treated him any differently, hadn’t backed away from him or tried to compensate for his past wounds. She was just Purdey, and she was wonderful.

Gambit closed his eyes, savoured just being here, in Purdey’s flat, waiting for the coffee to brew, listening to her in the shower, feeling the coolness of the counter as he rested his palms atop it. Soaked up the perfect serenity of being there, at that moment, in the domain of the woman he loved and who loved him in turn. He truly was a lucky man, a remarkable sentiment for him to have given his recent reliving of his previous traumas, but one he believed in wholeheartedly.

He was so busy drinking the morning in that he didn’t hear Purdey approach, not until he felt the hands slide onto his sides, and the kiss on his shoulder blade.

“All yours,” she told him, and he turned to face her, a smile playing on his lips. He was sure he’d smiled more these past few months than in his entire life.

“Thanks,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. She put a finger to his lips and stopped him.

“I meant the shower,” she clarified.

“Oh.” Gambit was slightly disappointed, and it showed.

“There’s no point in looking like that,” Purdey said primly. “We’ve got work to do. If you go now, I’ll use my culinary expertise and make you breakfast.” 

“Omelette?”

“Cornflakes.”

“Of course. Pulling out all the stops. Don’t tire yourself out.”

Purdey smirked. “I’ll try my best.”

“Leave me some coffee.” He was already retreating to the bedroom.

Purdey rolled her eyes expansively. “You can have the whole pot. I’m not becoming an addict.”

“Suit yourself.” He treated her to a saucy wink. “Don’t go away.”

“Without breakfast?” Purdey sounded shocked by the idea. “Mike, you should know me better than that.”

“I do,” Gambit confirmed wryly. “But it’s nice to know I can count on you to stick around for the food at least.”

“Not only the food.” They shared a long look. Then Purdey said, “Have your shower, Mike, before I start coming around to your idea of how to start the day.”

His grin of understanding was priceless. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

vvv

Purdey and Gambit arrived at the Ministry in good spirits, happy with their lot in life. Which made it all the more chilling when they found a black cloud waiting for them at their destination. As they headed down the corridor, they came across McKay loitering at his office door, gaze fixed so pointedly on their approaching figures that there was no doubt that he was waiting for them. Providing support for that unwelcome conclusion was the presence of Steed at his side. They wore matching grim expressions, completing the unsettling effect.

“Gambit,” was the sum total of McKay’s gruff greeting. He nodded at his office door, ignoring Purdey entirely. “Inside. We need to have a chat.”

Purdey and Gambit exchanged worried glances. “Steed, what’s going on?” Purdey wanted to know, looking to the senior agent for reassurance, her concern overriding her usual chagrin at being so obviously excluded.

“Something has come to our attention,” Steed said evasively. “We think Gambit may be able to help us with it.”

“He’s not in trouble?” Purdey pressed, looking to Gambit, who had lapsed into a stony silence the second he’d laid eyes on the morose pair. But Purdey didn’t need him to say a word. The set of Gambit’s jaw told her volumes about how worried he was, and so did the unconscious bracing of his body, as though he were readying himself for battle. “Gambit, do you know what’s going on?” she tried, though she couldn’t imagine how he could. Gambit was good at hiding his emotions, even from her, but she knew she would have sensed even the edges of his unease if he’d been worried about something that morning. He certainly wouldn’t have been so endearingly languid, including over breakfast, and he definitely wouldn’t have squeezed in that light-hearted preview of future intimacies just before they left her flat.

Gambit’s expression remained grimly impassive, and Purdey could tell he was already bearing down and bracing for the worst. “No, but I have a feeling I will soon. What’s this about?”

“We’ll discuss it inside,” McKay said flatly. “Purdey, if you’ll excuse us.”

Purdey’s hands went to her hips, and the previously foregone indignation finally surfaced. “Why should Steed go in and not me? We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Steed agreed, with a slight smile at his old friend’s expense, turning expectantly to McKay. “Why shouldn’t she?”

McKay regarded Steed sourly. “Gambit’s entitled to a certain level of privacy about his past, isn’t he?”

“Then why is Steed allowed to stay?” Purdey pressed, with her usual indefatiguable logic.

“Because he’s already privy to this particular section of Gambit’s file,” McKay explained tetchily. He clearly wanted to get on with whatever it was, and he definitely looked displeased to still be having this conversation out in the hallway, where every agent who passed them by was looking at them out of the corner of their eyes.

“If this is what I think it’s about, so does Purdey,” Gambit cut in, and Purdey registered a flicker of surprise on McKay’s normally-inscrutable, battle-weary features. “And even if she doesn’t, she’ll probably find out one way or another.” He looked at Purdey for a long moment, then back at McKay. “Anyway, I’d like her to be there. Knowing Purdey, she’ll probably have more of an idea of what to do than any of us.”

Steed looked quite pleased by this turn of events, and turned to his old friend with the air of someone who had won a recently-made argument. “Well, Tommy, I did warn you. It seems we come as a set.”

McKay’s expression was decidedly unenthusiastic, but he didn’t press the issue. “It’s his past, not mine,” he grumbled, turning brusquely on his bad leg and swinging his stick almost aggressively in the process. “If he wants to share it around, I’m not going to stop him. But it’s on your head, not mine.”

He led them into his office, locking the door behind them. There was a projector set up on a table in the centre of the room, and a screen pulled down at the other end. McKay settled himself into the chair behind his desk and nodded at Steed to turn off the lights and play the film already threaded into the projector. “I’ll explain the details in a moment, but I think you ought to see this first,” he told Gambit and Purdey, and nodded to the already-whirring projector. Purdey and Gambit exchanged one last look of confusion before turning to face the screen.

The footage had obviously been shot by hand and at some distance, standard for surveillance detail. To Purdey, it was decidedly underwhelming given all of the secrecy. It showed a woman in her thirties, dark-haired, coldly beautiful, walking down a street, seemingly without a care in the world. Purdey didn’t recognise her, but from the way Gambit had snapped to attention beside her, he certainly did.

“Gambit?” she hissed, feeling worry wash over her as she caught sight of his gently working jaw, wondering if he looked paler or if it was just the way the light from the projector was playing over his face. “What is it?”

Gambit swallowed hard, mouth dry, eyes never leaving the screen. “That’s Vanessa Thyme,” he managed, voice scratching out of a throat suddenly gone painfully dry.

“What?!” Purdey whipped round and looked at the woman on the screen, then back again. “Are you sure?”

“She tortured me for three months. Not the kind of face you forget,” Gambit said bitterly, turning away to look at Steed and McKay, rather than spend a second longer looking at the woman who had nearly broken him. “When was this taken?”

“Two days ago,” McKay replied, nodding at Steed to switch off the projector and turn on the lights. “We received word that she’d entered the country, and put eyes on her immediately. So far she hasn’t done much of interest, but we’re staying on her.”

“She’ll spot them a mile away,” Gambit predicted darkly, eyes distant, the way they had been on the night he’d told her about his horrible ordeal. She didn’t need to ask to know that he was reliving those same awful moments once more. “And if she wants to lose them, she will. Any idea why she’s here?”

“We were hoping you might be able to help with that,” Steed answered. “You know her better than any of our people. She hasn’t been in the country for six years. She must have a reason to come back now.”

“She works for a fee, not loyalty, so whatever is, someone’s paying her for it,” Gambit said flatly, obviously keen to be out of the room, and the conversation, as quickly as possible. “But that could be anyone, for any reason.”

“But you haven’t any idea what that might be?” McKay pressed, leaning intently over the desk. “She never said anything about having an employer here?”

Gambit shook his head. “The questions tended to go one way when I talked to her.”

“And you haven’t seen or heard from her since?” McKay went on, regarding Gambit intently. “She hasn’t tried to contact you since she arrived?”

“No!” Gambit looked horrified at the suggestion. “I don’t want anything to do with her. She nearly killed me. Do you think I’d keep it under my hat if she turned up on my doorstep?”

“No one’s accusing you of anything,” McKay said calmly. 

Purdey scowled. “I hope not. Why on earth would Gambit want anything to do with her? And anyway, just because she’s here doesn’t mean it’s because of him. If she’s as good as everyone says, she must know hundreds of people in London who’d want to employ her.”

“As I said, no one’s accusing Gambit of anything. But you will let us know if she does make contact?” McKay was watching Gambit carefully, evaluatively, and it was making Purdey’s hair stand on end.

“Of course,” Gambit said levelly. “If you can catch her and put her away for a million years, I’ll sleep better at night.”

“Excellent,” McKay replied, equally levelly. “Do let us know if we can do anything for you. Surveillance, protection, that sort of thing.”

Gambit was already getting to his feet, clearly eager to be out of the room, as though afraid Vanessa might leap out of the projector at any moment. “Thanks for the offer, but I survived her once before. I don’t think a car parked in front of my flat will make much difference in the long run.”

McKay’s expression was tellingly neutral. “Understood. That’ll be all, Gambit.”

Gambit nodded once, curtly, and quit the room. Purdey’s glance at McKay lingered a little longer before she followed him out. She caught up with him in the corridor, where he appeared to be trying to put as much distance between himself and McKay’s office as possible. “Did you know about this?” she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

“Of course not,” Gambit said sharply, on edge. “I wish they’d left me out of it. It would have saved me looking over my shoulder.”

“I’d rather know what I’m dealing with than be left in the dark.” It was Steed, suddenly appearing at Gambit’s shoulder, speaking sotto voce. Purdey regarded him intently. 

“Steed, you haven’t been keeping this under your hat, have you?” she wanted to know, her annoyance at the possibility he had plain for all to see. “If we’d known earlier, we at least would have been on the lookout for anything odd.”

“I give you my word that McKay only told me when I came in this morning,” Steed vowed. “Tommy was considering whether to say anything to Gambit until we had more information, but I thought Gambit deserved to know, whether he wanted to or not.”

Purdey nodded, satisfied with that answer. “Well, now that we all know, what are we going to do about it?”

“Go to work,” Gambit said brusquely, not keen to dwell on the darker corners of his past. “And try not to think about it.” He looked to Steed. “We do still have an assignment, don’t we?”

Steed nodded. “We do, though I understand if you’d rather take some time to collect your thoughts.”

“No,” Gambit said firmly, squaring his shoulders. “The last thing I want to do is sit around wondering if the roof is about to fall in. Let’s go.” He quickened his pace down the corridor. Purdey and Steed exchanged glances.

“He’ll need looking after,” Steed told the girl. “By both of us. If something does happen, he’ll need help.”

Purdey nodded smartly. “I’ve become quite good at saving Mike Gambit from himself. I don’t intend to stop now.”

Steed beamed. “That makes two of us. Shall we?”


	11. A Glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same Time Next Year
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \--------------------

Gambit wished he was bored.

Very bored.

The assignment had necessitated that Purdey drive her own car, so Gambit was now sitting alone in his Jaguar just off the motorway, watching cars pass, and waiting for any sign of Withers, whom they had seen driving to his rendez-vous about half an hour ago. There were three possible exits the man could take, and Steed, Purdey, and Gambit had each stationed themselves at one, maintaing radio contact while they waited to keep each other apprised of any developments. Gambit wished he had something to say, or at least the desire to shoot the breeze, but he was bereft of both. He really wished the reason behind his silence was down to something as benign as boredom. He knew how to deal with boredom. He’d had plenty of practice learning how to deal with it. When he was a kid, and there was nothing interesting going on in the neighbourhood, there was always the option of wandering around the bomb sites of London with abandon, seeing what secrets they contained. Or he might sneak off somewhere on his own with a book from the library, because heaven knew he couldn’t afford to buy one, and snatch a few quiet hours to himself, away from the other distractions of his particular corner of London, some of whom had no qualms about giving him a pounding if they decided he’d looked at them the wrong way. Not that he always lost those fights, but some days the trouble was more than it was worth, win or lose, and Gambit, ironically given his choice of professions over the years, had never been one to go looking for trouble. He’d found other ways of alleviating the boredom, other ways of entertaining himself, that didn’t involve bloodying anyone’s noses, including his own.

He’d put that particular skill to the test when he enlisted in the navy. Not that there were many opportunities to be bored there, either. He was working most of the time, in one capacity or another, and when he wasn’t it usually meant he was in his hammock sleeping, the sleep of the dead tired, so there wasn’t much of an opportunity to be bored then, either. Then there was shore leave, and there was always plenty to see, to explore, to experience in a new corner of the world, seen through the eyes of a boy whose mose exotic travel destination before that had been to visit relatives on the Isle of Man. But every once in awhile, there’d be the odd hour or two where Gambit would be at his own disposal, rather than someone else’s, and it was easy to be bored then, with not much to do but swing in one’s hammock. He used to read in those stolen hours, too. And think. He’d thought a lot about a lot of things, staring up at the ceiling above where he lay, somehow completely oblivious to the way the ship rocked back and forth around him. When he started in the navy, he thought a lot about home, about family, what they were doing without him, what he might be missing. But the longer he was gone, the more he thought about the future. The next port, the next country, the next continent. But then he’d started looking further, pondering what life would hold in store for him. He never seriously considered that he might stay in the navy for the rest of his natural life, but that left the very important question of what he would do, what he might be good at, what might interest him. He’d thought a lot about that, about what kind of life he wanted, what kind of work he wanted to do. That had come part and parcel with what he wanted to see, to experience, because with every port his eyes were being opened up to more and more of the possibilities of what the world had to offer to a young man who’d foregone formal schooling for another kind of education entirely, and he was hungry for more of that knowledge. Hungry for life. He started to keep a mental list of everything he wanted to cram into his existence, which grew exponentially with every new discovery. There was so much to learn, so much to do, so much to experience, it was almost dizzying for a young man just starting to spread his wings.

Those thoughts about what he wanted to do and learn came part and parcel with who he might want to live his life with, and what that life might look like. Visions of love, partnership, trust, connection had drifted through his mind starting in his teens, gradually becoming more sophisticated with each passing year, but the core, the essence, remained the same. He’d always hoped he could find that connection, somehow, and until he did, thinking about it had kept him occupied whenever boredom threatened.

He still thought about those things, even now. Gambit had learned patience and discipline from his martial arts training, had drawn on it when spending hours on end on surveillance, sitting in a car just as he was at that moment. But his own internal world had always been just as good at keeping him from going mad. He rather liked sitting on his own and having the chance to be alone with his thoughts. Recently a lot of them had to do with Purdey, and their relationship, which opened up all sorts of new questions and possibilities that needed thinking on. And he did think. Even if Purdey wasn’t around, thoughts about her helped to keep the boredom at bay. But right at that moment, Gambit would have happily given up all of his internal musings, all of his discipline, all of his training, just to be able to sit there and be bored, with nothing to occupy his mind at all, and enjoy the emptiness.

Of course, there would undoubtedly be plenty of action eventually, plenty to occupy his brain, but until then, Gambit would have been happy to be bored. Stiff. Because sitting there with only his thoughts was proving to be a curse rather than a blessing on this particular occasion. The lack of distraction meant there was nothing to keep his mind from drifting back to the information he’d received that morning: Vanessa Thyme was in London. Somewhere out there was the woman who had caused him untold misery, wandering around with impunity. He kept trying to tell himself that she wasn’t there for him, that there were a hundred reasons someone with her skillset would come to a city as big as London. Logic dictated that her presence had nothing to do with him. And yet, Gambit’s instincts, the stock and trade of a man in his line of work, told him that Vanessa intended to make trouble for him. He swallowed hard and tried to quell the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. He cast around for a distraction, but the only entertainment to be had was talking to his colleagues on the radio. As he returned his attention to their conversation, he found that Purdey was monopolizing the airwaves.

“I was sorry when the sun went,” she was saying. “The sunbathing’s all but over for the year.”

“So was I,” Gambit bemoaned, willing himself to quip rather than dwell on dark things, breaking his self-imposed silence. “No chance of catching you in the act.”

“Gambit!” He could hear the outrage and vague embarrassment, coupled with a hint of flirtatiousness, and smiled at the mental image of Purdey’s cheeks colouring a vibrant red even as her lips stretched in a wicked smile.

“I can picture you now…thanks Purdey, you made my day.”

Purdey ignored him, pointedly directing her next comment to Steed. “How long do you think the meeting will take?”

Gambit, watching the steady stream of cars, didn’t hear Steed’s response. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little alarm bell had sounded, and Mike found himself sitting bolt upright in his seat, eyes scanning the motorway. He’d seen…what? No, nothing, just cars, whizzing back and forth on the motorway. Dozens of them. But Gambit’s pulse was racing and his blood was pounding in his ears, and he knew that his reaction had to be attributable to something. He felt sick, sick to the pit of his stomach. And hot. He slumped against the steering wheel, gasping for air. It felt, felt like…Oh hell, I’m having a panic attack. His chest tightened. Get a grip on yourself, Mike, he thought angrily. You can’t let yourself fall apart. Not now. 

It’s happening, with or without your permission, came the grim response from his subconscious. What are you going to do about it?

Gambit clenched his teeth and swore, with feeling, under his breath, for a good half a minute. It wasn’t a technique that his karate master would approve of, that much was certain, but it made him feel better. After another moment or two of deep breathing, he became aware of the squawking from the radio. He pulled his fevered, madly racing brain back to reality in time to pick up Purdey’s worried voice. 

“Gambit?” she queried, trying to sound lighthearted but not quite succeeding. An edge of anxiety was creeping into her voice, whether she was aware of it or not. “That was very informative, if rather impolite. I hadn’t heard some of those phrases until now. What did you do? Spill your coffee on your lap?”

“That would have been my first guess,” came Steed’s cheery reply. “Nothing new for me on the vocabulary front, I’m afraid, but I’m sure Gambit will be glad to fill any gaps in your knowledge.”

Gambit blinked in surprise, fumbled with the radio. “You heard that?”

Purdey snorted. “Of course I heard. So would anyone else who happened to tune in on this frequency. You’ve had the transmit button held down for the past minute.”

Gambit looked down at his radio, realized that he had clenched it so tightly in his hand that the metal was cutting into his skin and his knuckles were white, one finger forcing the radio’s button down.

“Where did you learn all that? Not one of your girlfriends, I hope,” Purdey went on, still feigning unconcern, but sounding increasingly anxious about Gambit’s well-being. “I thought you had slightly better taste than that.”

“Navy,” Gambit muttered distractedly in response, his voice shaking madly. And he still didn’t know what had set him off.

“Mike?” Purdey was really concerned now, no semblance of flippancy left in her voice. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…” What? What was he? Having a nervous breakdown? For no reason? Two minutes ago he’d been praying for boredom, or at least a diversion from his anxious train of thought. Now, he would have given anything to go back to being simply worried.

“Purdey! Gambit!” Steed said urgently, cutting Gambit’s off before he could respond. “Withers is on the move. Gambit, he’s heading your way!”

Gambit didn’t hear him. He was staring at the traffic. Something had just set off a fresh set of tremors.

“Purdey, flank him!”

“I’m on my way.”

Vaguely, he was aware of the sound of tyres screeching on asphalt as Withers gunned his car straight toward him, not showing any indication of being put off by his presence.

“Gambit, what the devil are you waiting for?!” Steed’s normal composure had slipped, and now he was in full-on command mode. “Gambit, are you there?”

Meanwhile, Purdey, gaining on Withers in her TR7 with every passing second, risked a worried glance down at her radio. Gambit still hadn’t responded. She could see the XJS parked up ahead, but Gambit hadn’t even switched the engine on, let alone moved to intercept their quarry. She could just about see Gambit, a faint outline through the car window. But he was looking the wrong way, not at Withers but out into the passing traffic. She felt her brow furrow, groped around blindly for her own radio where it was sitting on the passenger seat while trying to keep her gaze on Withers. Her fingers brushed the unit, but a sudden swerve to keep Withers boxed in caused it to slide off to the right and drop into the void beneath her seat. Purdey cursed under her breath, temporarily cut off from contacting either of colleagues. In last minute desperation, she leaned on the horn, desperately hoping Gambit would wake up and do his job.

Mike heard the urgent honking in a daze. He blinked, whipped around to see the miniature convoy of Withers and Purdey bearing down upon him, and swore. His aunt would be furious with the way he was going on today. He hadn’t muttered so many words from his seaman’s vocabulary in a single day since he was aboard ship. Kicking himself for letting the situation become so dire, he turned the key in the ignition, changed gears, and gunned the XJS to block Withers’ escape route. He executed a quick handbrake turn, and the Jaguar swerved to effectively forestall Withers from going anywhere by car. He could see the man through the windscreen giving him a dirty look. Then their quarry opened his car door, climbed out with an envelope tucked under his arm, leapt a fence, and sprinted across the open field bordering the road. Gambit scrambled out of his own car in pursuit, but Purdey, coming in from behind, had already vaulted from her TR7 and taken off after him, long legs eating up the ground. Gambit watched her with his usual touch of admiration, before he noticed he was being watched himself. Steed was looking at him pointedly from where he stood next to his own car. Gambit felt his cheeks heat, knowing that he’d nearly dropped the ball on this one. Letting Withers go would have been a costly mistake. He tried to ignore the penetrating stare of Steed’s grayish-blue eyes, and took off after Purdey and Withers. 

The girl was more than making up for Withers’ head start. Withers was fast, but Purdey was faster, and as she neared him, she left the ground and dived gracefully through the air to catch the man around the waist. They hit the ground in a heap, but Withers wasn’t going down without a fight. He rolled onto his back, crushing Purdey, who was still clinging to his waist, beneath him. She squirmed out from underneath the man’s body and stuck one elegant foot out to trip him up as he tried to stand. He went down again, but somehow managed to get his hands around Purdey’s neck. That was a mistake, Gambit knew immediately. If Purdey didn’t get him for that, then Gambit would. Either way, Withers had quashed whatever mercy either of them would have deigned to show the man who had chosen to buy and sell information that had cost many agents their lives. But Gambit was saved from being the one to exact revenge by Purdey, who somehow managed, using the flexibility Gambit had come to appreciate, to maneuver one of those long legs under and up to kick the man hard in the stomach, causing him to collapse and lie gasping on the ground. That was Gambit’s cue to hurry over and pin the man down, lest he try to make another dash for freedom. But then that feeling, the rising panic that had distracted him in the first place, resurfaced, and Gambit found his attention suddenly, inexplicably, drawn toward the road. What was it? What had he seen?

“Gambit!”

Gambit snapped from his reverie and realised that he’d loosened his grip on his captive. Withers, seemingly recognising that this was his chance to escape, wrenched his left wrist from Gambit’s grasp, and drove his fist violently into Gambit’s stomach. Gambit’s lungs emptied with a ‘whoosh’, and Withers sprang up, knocking Gambit over and making a break for it. Luckily, Purdey was still on the case, springing upright and into action like a greyhound charging after a particularly panicked rabbit. Withers had a head start, but no one could outrun Purdey in a drag race. Her long legs again quickly cut the distance between them, and a flying tackle sent them both crashing into the leaves. There was a brief struggle, one which Gambit recovered enough to rush to her side to assist with, but by the time he arrived, Purdey had the upper hand, pinning the man face down on the ground with his hands behind his back. Gambit took in the scene with a measure of admiration, grinning as he reached her side. “You could have given him more of a head start. It was hardly a fair fight.”

Purdey, for one, was not in a joking mood. “Cuffs,” she said brusquely, reaching one hand out for the requested articles, using her knee to hold down Withers’ arm. 

Gambit extracted the pair from his back pocket and handed them over, Purdey nearly taking his fingers with them in the process. She cuffed Withers with a little more force than was strictly necessary, but Gambit had the feeling she wasn’t in the mood to be scolded about it. “Call Steed,” she ordered, face like thunder. “I can hold him until then.”

Gambit did as he was told, pulling the radio from his pocket and calling the senior agent. Steed arrived a few moments later, looking eminently pleased with the state of affairs, despite Gambit’s earlier blunder. Gambit watched the woman stand with a certain degree of wariness. Purdey was picking dead leaves and the odd twig out of her hair when Steed sauntered up. He prodded Withers with his brolly. The man scowled but didn’t say anything. 

“What happened to the envelope?” the senior agent wanted to know.

Purdey retrieved it from where it had landed in the leaves during the tackle, and handed it to Steed. He opened it and rifled through the contents quickly, then smiled in satisfaction.

“Thank you. Excellent work,” he praised, as Purdey shoved the struggling Withers back into the ground as he attempted to stand. 

Gambit, in the process of standing himself, looked stricken. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, focussing on his boots. “I know I got distracted and just about botched the whole thing. But if you’re going to ream me out, do we have to do it in front of him?” He pointed his chin at Withers, who scowled back.

Steed cocked his head to one side. “I’m not annoyed with you, Gambit. You’re a good agent, and what happened today doesn’t change that. But I am concerned. Particularly about the swearing.”

Gambit’s head jerked up in surprise. “What about it?”

“There were ladies present—or listening, rather,” Steed said lightly. Gambit knew that he was being let off easy because Steed was less concerned about sparing Purdey’s blushes than about Gambit having a potential breakdown. Somehow, that made it even worse than a full-on session of shouting, even one that happened in front of the downed Withers.

Purdey seemed to have as little time for Steed’s positivity as Gambit’s jokes. “Could you take him, Steed?” she asked the senior agent, then turned burning eyes on Gambit. “I need a word with Gambit.”

“Of course,” Steed agreed, some of his sunniness sapping away to be replaced by a measure of suspicion. He strode over and hooked his brolly under Withers’ elbow to drag him upright. “Come along, then, Withers. It’s your lucky day. You get to ride in the Big Cat.” He nodded at his colleagues. “I’ll drive him to the Ministry. You two can meet me there.”

Gambit watched them go, then turned to Purdey and tried to smile. “Well, we got him in the end, eh?”

In a flash, Purdey launched herself forward, grabbed a handful of his jacket, and pressed him into the nearest tree. Gambit winced at the harsh glint in the bright blue pools. Here it comes…

“Mike Gambit, what the hell were you thinking?” Purdey scolded, face a mask of anger. Gambit didn’t know when he’d last seen her so annoyed.

Gambit was temporarily speechless in the face of her ire. “Look, I’m--”

“You were off in another world completely,” Purdey berated, cutting him off. “There we were, mid-assignment, with a man to bring into custody, and suddenly you were gazing off into the distance and almost letting him go. And to be particularly infuriating, you caught up with him only to let it happen again!” Purdey’s eyes were searching his face for an explanation. “If I hadn’t caught him, where would we be?”

“I…”

“On top of everything else, you seemed to have also gone deaf, or at the very least quit listening to your radio. The least you could have done was call in. We couldn’t even contact you. If it weren’t for me honking the horn, I think you would have let him drive straight past you.” She searched his face, demanding, expectant. “Well, don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I...don’t,” Gambit admitted, so softly Purdey had to strain to hear him. Gambit did look away now, and she thought she could feel a slight quiver in the handful of fabric she still had clutched in her first. She let him go, felt the rage drain out of her, leaving her empty inside. In truth, her anger was a front. She was worried. Something had been wrong long before Withers had interrupted their dialogue. Gambit’s string of expletives for one. Something must have happened to make him curse like that. But part of her was angry that he had let whatever it was interfere with his work. Gambit was the consummate professional. He’d never let his personal feelings botch a job so badly before. “Mike,” she prodded, a little gentler this time. “You can’t afford to make silly mistakes. McKay will split us up if he finds out about us and thinks I’m distracting you from the job at hand.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Gambit raised his hands in surrender. “I got it wrong.”

Purdey crossed her arms, mounting confusion filling up the void left by her ire. “I know you are. So tell me, what happened?” She cocked her head to one side knowingly. “It’s about this morning, isn’t it?” 

Gambit sighed, worked his jaw. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think…my gut tells me I thought I saw something.” He froze as the problem of identifying what had upset him suddenly resolved itself in a shudder of recognition. “I thought I saw Vanessa,” he murmured in surprise, more to himself than to her, and saw Purdey go pale. “In a car on the motorway. I can’t be sure I did. Hell, maybe it was just someone who vaguely looked like her, driving by out of the corner of my eye. But ever since I heard about her being back in the country, she’s been in the back of my mind, and I let her crawl out of whatever cupboard she lives in. I’m looking for her.” He sagged in defeat. He thought he was good at keeping Vanessa out of his head outside of anniversary time, but this revelation put paid to that theory. “I let her distract me. That’s no excuse, I know.”

Purdey sighed and laid a hand aside his face. “I understand,” she said softly. “But you’ll wind up driving a desk if you keep making those sorts of mistakes. Not to mention the possibility it’ll get us both killed.”

“I know, I know,” Gambit agreed, covering her hand with his. “I let us both down. And Steed. I’ll try to do better, I promise.”

“No more distractions?” Purdey asked worriedly.

“No more distractions,” Gambit confirmed smiling away her fears. “Not on the job, anyway.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Purdey vowed. 

Gambit nodded, happy to have Purdey at his back, holding him to account, making sure he didn’t get complacent. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Good.” Purdey leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. “You were very, very lucky,” she pointed out when she pulled away, brushing aside a stray curl. “Steed could have had your head on a platter.”

“I know,” Gambit murmured, jaw working madly. “He still might, not that I blame him.” He gifted her a crooked, apologetic smile. “I really am sorry, you know. Last thing I want to do is bring you, me, us, down. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was fine, and the next…” He shrugged pathetically. “If you hadn’t snapped me out of it, Withers might have been halfway to Scotland by now.”

Purdey grimaced at the downcast look on his face. “Don’t make a habit of it is all I ask,” she told him gently, regretting that she’d been so hard on him. Gambit always came through for her. One slip-up didn’t change that. And he’d been through so much recently. “I shouldn’t have done Steed’s job and reamed you out myself. That didn’t help anyone.”

Gambit shook his head. “No, you were both right. Steed’s going to have some more of his linguistic observations when we get back, but I’ll take my lumps. Only way to knock some sense into my thick skull, eh?” He tried to smile at the joke, but Purdey shook her head.

“There are other, better, ways,” she told him, and then gave him another quick kiss, needing to touch him, for him to know she still loved him, still cared, that that was why she was so angry to begin with. “Try to keep your mind on the road on the way back, if you can.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me, then,” Gambit quipped, with some of his usual cheekiness, and treated her to a saucy wink before making his way back to the XJS.

vvvv

Gambit looked out over the London skyline, hand tapping the window frame above his head contemplatively. Steed had taken him aside back at the Ministry, had asked him what the matter was in that wonderfully roundabout way of his that asked the question without really touching it. But Gambit’s answer had been fairly inconclusive, and Steed had sent him and Purdey home after they had finished their reports. Now it was afternoon, and Gambit was more certain than ever that his supposed glimpse of Vanessa was what was bothering him, which bothered him even more. Not only that, but the sickening sense of foreboding hadn’t faded away. He’d convinced himself earlier that there was nothing for him to worry about but his own thoughts. But now he was equally convinced that something terrible was out in that bustling metropolis, something with consequences for him alone. If he was lucky. If he wasn’t…

“I know I’m late, but there were awful queues everywhere, including at the Ministry,” Purdey announced suddenly, striding into Gambit’s flat without bothering to knock, laden with brown paper bags stapled shut. “And besides all that, I ran into Marshall on the way out, and he was in a very talkative mood.” She set the bags on the kitchen counter and shrugged off her coat. “But I did manage to pick up some takeaway. I thought you wouldn’t want to go out, but I’m not in the mood for cooking and heaven knows you’re not.” She tossed the coat on the couch and frowned. “Gambit, are you listening?”

Gambit turned his head slowly to look at her, as though coming out of a fog. “Sorry, I was miles away,” he apologised.

“Gambit,” Purdey chastised gently, moving to join him at the window. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting in here brooding about Vanessa Thyme.”

“All right, I won’t tell you.”

Purdey pursed her lips into a thin line. “Mike, you know that won’t help. And anyway, we’ve been through all this. There are a million reasons why she could be in London, none of them to do with you.”

“I saw her.”

Purdey froze, then said, very carefully, “I thought you weren’t sure?”

“I saw her,” Gambit repeated firmly, turning away from the window. “While I was waiting for Withers. That’s what triggered a panic attack. It wasn’t my imagination. I’ve thought about and thought about it and I not only think I saw her, I think I saw her more than once.” 

Purdey was vibrating with anxiety and the urge to barricade the doors. “You do?”

“When I was sitting in my car, waiting for Withers,” Gambit explained, “I was watching the traffic go by, not really paying attention. But looking back, there was this one car that kept driving past, over and over again. And sitting in the driver’s seat was Vanessa. I’m sure of it. I didn’t register at first because she had a hat covering her hair, but thinking back to it now, I know it was her.”

Purdey shook her head. “Mike, that sounds like your imagination playing tricks on you. You were thinking about her because of what McKay told us this morning.” Gambit opened his mouth to respond, but Purdey ploughed on with relentless logic. “Then you sat in the car stewing while waiting for Withers. You got so worried you made yourself sick, and now you’ve convinced yourself you saw her.” 

“No,” Gambit said firmly, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I didn’t imagine it. I’m not saying I’m not paranoid, or that I wasn’t thinking about her. But I didn’t imagine the same car going by over and over, and I definitely didn’t imagine it slowing down every time it was near me. She was looking at me, Purdey. I don’t know if she was scoping me out or wanted me to see her, but either way she’s here, and she has her eye on me.” 

Purdey felt her blood run cold. “You still don’t know for sure,” she protested, a little desperately. “You were sure this morning that you hadn’t seen her. And you can’t have gotten a clear look at her, not from that distance. And you must admit you were preoccupied at the time. It could’ve been someone who just looked like her. And anyway, even if was her, she’s under surveillance.”

Gambit shook his head. “She’ll spot them a mile away, and lose them just as fast as she picks them up. Chances are they thought they had eyes on wherever she was, and she gave them the slip. They’ll never know she was gone.” 

“Well, I can see you have a very high opinion of our intelligence services,” Purdey said flatly, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“I know her,” Gambit countered. “She’s good, and she doesn’t have a rulebook to follow. Which puts our people at a disadvantage.” He looked at Purdey, features grim. “I wish I could say that someone will grab her and they’ll have her boxed up by Monday, but I can’t. Not with a straight face.”

Purdey’s eyes flickered downward momentarily in resignation, then back up once more. “Well, it doesn’t matter if they catch her or not,” she declared, much to Gambit’s surprise. “As long as she leaves you alone, it’s nothing to do with you, and that’s all that matters.”

Gambit shook his head again. “We don’t know that she will leave me alone. She was watching me, after all.”

“Mike Gambit, I know that ego of yours can be remarkably resilient, but this is going a bit far even for you,” Purdey exclaimed in frustration. “She must have associated with hundreds of people in her time. She might have been doing another job and seen you and wanted to make sure you weren’t going to cause her any trouble. If she was going to do something to you, wouldn’t she have done it then? And anyway, why on earth would she still be after you? It’s been so long since you had anything to do with her. And we still can’t be sure it even was her.”

Gambit sighed and looked out the window at the skyline once more. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense. Maybe the odds are against it. I’d bet against it, if it were anyone else, especially after all this time. But still…” He let a long breath out through his nose. “My instinct tells me otherwise. I feel it, right down in my gut.”

“But that can be wrong,” Purdey tried, still unwilling to believe it. “We all read things wrong sometimes, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Gambit said, without much conviction. “Sometimes.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Gambit brooding and Purdey unsure of where to go from there. Steed always told them to cultivate their instincts, and it was true that they were seldom wrong. Doubting Gambit’s instincts felt as wrong to Purdey as going against her own, and in their line of work they did so at their peril. But today, for once, she was praying for them to be off, and not just because she was feeling the same niggle of doubt at the back of her own mind that Gambit was. After finally breaking down a major barrier between her and Gambit, and getting past the strain of him telling her about that awful chapter of his past, they were closer than ever. Now, just as quickly, she felt him slipping away again, into the recesses of the past and his own mind.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now,” Purdey said, as brightly as possible under the circumstances. “We should eat before it gets cold.”

Gambit crossed his arms and hugged himself. “I’m not really hungry, Purdey-girl,” he said absently, trying to smile to reassure her. “But you probably are, so go ahead without me.”

“If I wanted to eat on my own, I would have gone home,” Purdey huffed. “I came here to be with you, Mike Gambit, not stare at your back all evening.”

Gambit bowed his head in contrition. “I’m sorry, Purdey,” he apologised again. “I’m just…distracted. And not very good company. I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to go,” Purdey shot back, putting her hands on her hips. “But I refuse to stand by and watch you drive yourself to distraction.”

“I don’t need to drive. I’m already there,” Gambit quipped tiredly, causing Purdey to tsk in response.

“Well, you’re clearly not distracted enough to make terrible puns,” she observed.

“It’s all part of the distraction package.”

“Along with egotism, masochism, and negative thinking, I see,” Purdey summarised. “So much going on in that brain of yours, and none of it to do with me.”

“You know you’re always on my mind, Purdey-girl,” Gambit objected. “There’s just a lot of…”

“Distractions?” 

Gambit smiled wryly. “Right. Distractions, fighting with you for dominance.”

“Well, that will never do,” Purdey declared. “I refuse to compete for a small portion of your faculties. What you need, Mike Gambit, is a little diversion.”

“From my distraction?”

“Exactly.” She stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist, tucked her head against his shoulder. It was so comfortable there, just resting against him, and it only improved when he drew his arms around her. “Do you know, I’ve been distracted by you rather more than I’ve let on since we met.”

She could sense his eyebrows rising with interest. “Is this your way of getting my attention?”

“Is it working?”

“I’m listening, aren’t I?”

Purdey grinned wickedly into his shoulder, and continued. “When I first met you, I thought you were attractive, but I was also wary of you. There were so many rumours floating around the department, and I wanted to make my own way, not become a notch on some other agent’s belt.”

“Funny. I felt the same way about you.”

“Oh!” Purdey nudged him gently in the ribs. “That’s the sort of talk, Mike Gambit, that made me leery of you in the first place.”

“That was before you discovered my winning personality.”

“How could that be? I’m still looking for it now.”

“Hilarious. Is this comedy routine for me alone, or are you taking it on the road?”

“It’s a private performance.” Purdey rested her chin on his shoulder. “You pushed me in all the right ways, and none of the wrong ones. The more time I spent with you, the more I trusted you. And the more I trusted you, the more I could be myself with you, and the more I thought of you as a friend. And that meant I’d admitted to myself that I liked you, and once I’d admitted that, it was much more difficult to tell myself that I didn’t love you, and definitely difficult to pretend that I wasn’t attracted to you.”

“You did better than me,” Gambit admitted, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I could never pretend to be anything but besotted with you.”

“I noticed,” Purdey said with a smile, nuzzling his neck with her nose. “The way I noticed the bow of your top lip, and the slimness of your hips, and the colour of your eyes, and the great, great hair.” Her hands started to fist his shirt unconsciously. “And I wanted to touch you. Or kiss you. Or just hang on to you. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t let myself, because that would make me vulnerable, and I was so afraid. So afraid. Until I thought I was never going to have the chance to touch you at all, and that frightened me more.” She pulled away and looked up at him, eyes worried. “I held you at arm’s length for so long, and now I have to keep reminding myself that I’m allowed to touch you, and that if I do, the whole world won’t fall down. And now I feel like you’re pulling away from me, and I’m losing you, and that frightens me more than anything.”

Gambit smiled down at her, brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m not pulling away from you,” he promised. “That’s the last thing I want to do. I’m still getting used to being allowed to touch you, and I don’t want to stop just when things are getting interesting.” 

“Well?” Purdey queried. “What are you going to do, then? Because you’re not going to be doing much of that if you’re going to spend all your time staring out windows looking for ghosts.”

Gambit sighed. “I can’t say I won’t ever get distracted. I do. You know me well enough by now to know I go into my head sometimes and don’t come out again for awhile. Sometimes I need to. But I trust that if I ever go away for too long, you’ll find a way to bring me back again. And I’ll come back to you.”

“Even this time? With Vanessa Thyme lurking out there somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Do you promise?” Purdey looked serious, and he could tell this meant more to her than he realised. She really was worried.

“I promise,” he vowed, “and you know I always keep my promises.”

Purdey searched his face for a moment, then nodded. “All right, Mike Gambit. I’ll hold you to that.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Gambit agreed, and leaned in to kiss her. She kissed back, and when he pulled back, there was light in his eyes for the first time since she arrived. “Are you still hungry?”

“Yes.” But Purdey’s eyes were sparkling in a way that told him she didn’t necessarily mean for food. “Are you sufficiently distracted now?”

“Nearly.” Gambit let himself lean against her. “I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

“Well then, maybe food will carry you the rest of the way.” Purdey’s appetite had gotten the better of her, and the takeaway was calling. Gambit followed her to the kitchen counter, where the unopened bags sat, beckoning. Purdey opened the bags and began unpacking the cartons, lining up the various delicacies on the countertop. Gambit watched them accumulate with interest.

“Who are we feeding? The secretary pool?”

“Well,” Purdey defended. “I couldn’t decide between Indian or Chinese…”

“So you got both?” Gambit inferred, smiling at Purdey’s prodigious appetite. 

“I like a nice curry,” Purdey was saying as she opened one of the containers and inhaled deeply. “But I know you’re not acclimatized, so the Chinese is there for back-up.’

“I don’t see how anyone gets used to that stuff,” Gambit muttered, remembering the last time Purdey foisted the dish on him. “You must have guts of steel.”

Purdey shrugged, already seeking out dishware and cutlery. “You could’ve been a bit more open-minded,” she opined, “when you first tried it.”

“You could’ve started me out with something a bit milder than the stuff listed next to the little flammable icon on the menu,” Gambit remarked ruefully. “I nearly died. I swore I was going to wake up in the hospital with my stomach pumped.”

“Oh, you were fine eventually,” Purdey dismissed. “Although I don’t know if I’ve ever watched anyone drink that much water in one sitting.” 

“For all the good it did,” Gambit grumbled.

“I told you. It’s the oils that make it so hot. Water doesn’t do the slightest bit of good.” She smiled at the memory, scooping some curry onto a plate. “It was quite funny to watch, though.”

“For you maybe,” was all Gambit had to say, poking about in the other boxes. “Anything here that won’t peel all the skin off the inside of my mouth?”

“Egg rolls.” Purdey pointed with her fork, before helping herself to the curry. She closed her eyes and savoured the various flavours as they danced on her tongue. “Just like in India,” she said dreamily.

“I’ll bet,” Gambit said distractedly, unable to keep his mind on the food. He left Purdey for the couch and collapsed on it tiredly. 

Purdey opened her eyes, and realized Gambit had moved on. “Aren’t you having anything?” she queried.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Gambit replied, leaning back and staring straight ahead at one of the various pieces of illusionary art lining his wall. “I still don’t have much of an appetite.”

Purdey frowned, swallowed a second bite before abandoning her meal on the counter and taking a seat next to Gambit. “Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about that Thyme woman?”

“All right, I won’t tell you.”

“Let me guess. You need another diversion,” Purdey decided.

“To distract me from the original diversion?” Gambit said with a grin. “I’m going to need a map to keep track of all these distractions at this rate. Any suggestions?”

“One or two,” Purdey said with a glint in her eye, leaning into his slouched form until her mouth found his. He responded almost immediately, one of his hands finding its way to her waist, and he sat up a bit straighter. She leaned into him, feeling herself being drawn in. They parted briefly, Gambit raised an eyebrow.

“You’re spicy,” he observed.

Purdey realized she still tasted of curry. She passed her tongue over her teeth. “Sorry.”

Gambit shook his head. “Don’t be. I think this is the best way to get me, uh, acclimatized to the spiciness.” 

Purdey grinned. “In that case...seconds?”

“Always.” He could feel her pulling him forward, against her body as she lay back on the couch, taking him with her, marveled once again at how their bodies, trained to work as one in the field, had followed suit in the bedroom. The first time he’d made love to Purdey, Gambit had discovered the depth of the connection they had nurtured over the nearly two years since they’d met. He’d known how to touch her, how to hold her, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. As though they’d been made to fit. He knew her body as well as his own now, from the scar on her upper thigh where the tarantula had left its mark, to the curve of her hips beneath his questing hands. She was something else, and he never wanted to lose her…

The thought squelched him, and he broke away with a sigh. Purdey, who had been enjoying herself, and was just about to choose between working on Gambit’s shirt or his trousers, found herself suddenly left in the lurch. “Does this mean you’re not in the mood?” she asked wryly. “Because if you’re not, you only have to say so. Although, you’ve always struck me as the type who’s always in the mood.” 

“I would be,” Gambit protested. “I’m just—“

“Distracted. Yes, you said.” Purdey sighed, settling into a more relaxed posture next to him on the couch. “The question is, what are we going to do about it? Because you can’t go on like this, and I’m not enjoying it very much either.”

Gambit rubbed his face. “I don’t know Purdey,” he admitted quietly. “I honestly don’t know. Wait for the other shoe to drop, I guess. Not much we can do until then.” He sighed, consulted the watchface on the inside of his wrist. “May as well start on those egg rolls.” He smiled unconvincingly and left Purdey for the kitchen. She followed him worriedly, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Anything I can do?” she wanted to know.

“Just…stick about for a bit,” he replied, rummaging among the cartons on the countertop. His motives for keeping her closer weren’t for his comfort alone. If Purdey was with him, he could keep an eye on her, keep her from falling victim to something—someone--that was his fault.

Purdey smiled slightly. “I’ll do one better,” she told him. “I still have a clean nightgown here, don’t I?”

By the way his eyebrows quirked up, she deduced the answer was ‘yes’.


	12. Bad to Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \----------------

“Steed!” Purdey exclaimed in surprise the next morning, upon opening Gambit’s flat door to find the senior agent on the other side. She resisted the urge to give herself a quick onceover, to check if there was anything about her appearance that might give away that she had spent the night in Gambit’s flat—and bed. Squirming around in a tizzy would have been rather obvious, so Purdey had to content herself with a quick mental inventory of what she had done that morning, reassuring herself that her clothes were, indeed, clean and pressed, her hair was impeccably groomed, her makeup flawlessly applied. She’d driven her own car over the day before, so there wasn’t a lack of a vehicle to raise suspicions. So long as Steed didn’t question the earliness of her ‘visit’ to her partner, she thought they were probably safe. “Gambit and I were just about to come in together,” she began, hoping her voice sounded more level than it did in her head. She tamped down any residual panic and forced herself to appear nonchalant. “We’re not late for a meeting or anything, are we?”

“I can confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are not late for anything, Purdey,” Steed assured, removing his bowler as he stepped inside. “But I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit.” He looked meaningfully at Gambit, who was standing at the counter, sipping his coffee. “Although you know that already, don’t you?”

Purdey was looking from one man to the other in frustration. “You two and your telepathy! Gambit, what’s he talking about?”

Gambit set his coffee cup down with a sigh, met Steed’s eyes. “It’s Vanessa, isn’t it?” he surmised.

Steed nodded in confirmation. “She’s slipped the net.”

Purdey blanched. “What?”

Steed regarded her grimly. “Surveillance lost track of her two hours ago, and they haven’t as yet been able to pick up her trail.”

“They won’t,” Gambit asserted, hands tightly gripping the edge of the counter until the knuckles went white. “Not until she’s done whatever it is she wants to do, anyway. They’ve only stayed on her this long because she let them.”

“Then we need to find her ourselves,” Purdey said with feeling. “If they can’t do it, it’s up to us. She can’t be left free to wander the city.”

“I’m afraid that might prove rather difficult,” Steed said, regret lining his features. “Informing you of Vanessa’s status was a courtesy on my part. The real reason for my visit is to tell Gambit in person what McKay could have told him over the phone.” He met Gambit’s eyes. “Given recent events, you’ve been placed on indefinite leave, effective immediately.”

“What?!” Purdey’s eyes were flashing with outrage. “They can’t do that. He hasn’t done anything wrong. There was that slip-up during the assignment yesterday, but it wasn’t serious enough to warrant being taken off duty.”

“It’s not what I’ve done,” Gambit said tiredly, surprisingly unfazed by the revelation. “It’s what I might do.” He looked to Steed. “They’re worried I might be a liability. If Vanessa targets someone else to get to me.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Purdey exclaimed. “Steed, you can’t let them do this. It isn’t fair. We don’t even know that she’s here for Gambit. You have to talk to McKay.”

“I already have. All morning, in fact. But it hasn’t changed the outcome. Gambit’s lucky that he’s not being imposed upon further—McKay could have been much less lenient.”

“It’s not right,” Purdey fumed. “Mike, are you going to let them do this?”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Gambit replied pragmatically. “And they’re right.”

“What?”

“I am a liability,” he said flatly. “It’s my past, and mine alone. No one else should have to suffer for it.”

Purdey shook her head. “That shouldn’t matter. Not after everything you’ve done for the Ministry. I could name half a dozen agents who are still alive because of you without even trying. How can they be willing to turn on you with your service record?”

“It’s one of the less admirable features of the profession, I agree,” Steed concurred. “You’re useful until you’re not, no matter how much goodwill you’ve stored away over the years.”

Purdey crossed her arms, still incredibly displeased. “What are we meant to do in the meantime?

“Well, hopefully they’ll find her soon and put her away, and Gambit will be restored to his rightful place at our sides,” Steed offered optimistically. “But in the meantime, you and I are expected to carry on as normal.”

Purdey snorted derisively. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Please, Purdey,” Gambit pleaded. “It’s not your problem. Making life hard for yourself won’t help me, but it’ll hurt you. I don’t want that.”

“What about what I want?” Purdey shot back. “They discredit my partner and I’m supposed to carry on as normal?”

“Gambit does have a point,” Steed said gently. “And to be honest, Purdey, you’re rather more involved in all of this than you might think.”

Purdey frowned. “What do you mean?”

Steed sighed, looked from one of his colleagues to the other with a certain amount of trepidation. “I wasn’t going to ask about this unless it interfered with the job, and so far it hasn’t. But I rather think we’ve crossed that line now.”

Purdey’s patience had worn thin. “What line?”

“The personal one.” Steed regarded them both seriously. “I realise this is highly indiscreet, but events beyond my control have contrived to make it necessary for me to ask, so—“ His expression shifted, and he regarded Purdey and Gambit cheerily. “—is there anything I ought to know about what’s transpired between the pair of you recently? I don’t need details, just a basic grasp of the facts.”

Purdey and Gambit exchanged resigned glances. “Well, it was nice while it lasted,” Gambit said with an accepting shrug. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”

Purdey bit her lip. “We were going to tell you, Steed. Eventually.”

“Tell me what, exactly?” the senior agent wanted to know. 

“Oh really, Steed,” Purdey sighed, crossing her arms in exasperation. “You already know, don’t you?”

Steed bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “I have had my suspicions,” he confirmed, “but I’d prefer to hear it from you. A gentleman should never presume.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem,” Gambit said with a grin, earning a hissed reproach from Purdey, and a chuckle from Steed.

“I shouldn’t like to dig myself a bigger hole than I already have,” Steed demurred. “If you can save me that indignity, I think it’ll save a great deal of embarrassment on all our parts.”

Purdey dropped her hands to her sides, but the way they were curled into fists betrayed her anxiety. “It was after Gambit turned up alive, when I’d been certain I’d seen him killed.”

Steed’s ears pricked up. “Go on.”

Purdey’s cheeks were reddening, but her voice remained remarkably steady. “It made me reconsider a lot of things,” she said carefully. “About Gambit. And me. And I realised I’d almost lost my chance to be with him. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.” She shrugged. “So I told him how I felt and what I wanted.”

“And just about everyone knew what I wanted,” Gambit put in, with a knowing smile and a fond look toward Purdey. His eyes were soft when they met hers, and the look was returned in kind. “Coming back from the dead gives you a new perspective on lots of things. And when we’d worked out that our wants coincided, there wasn’t much to stop us. So now we’re—“

“Involved,” Purdey offered.

“Very involved,” Gambit emphasised, grin broad enough to almost split his face wide open. “Although we’ve always been involved, haven’t we, Purdey-girl? We’ve just finally caught up with ourselves.”

Purdey held Gambit’s gaze rather longer than she’d intended, and for a moment Steed thought they’d forgotten he was there. Eventually, Purdey tore her eyes from Gambit’s with great effort, and said, with a certain amount of defiance, “And that’s how it is. We’ve been trying to keep it under our hats, but I’m surprised you didn’t work it out earlier.”

“As I said, I’ve had my suspicions,” Steed admitted, looking rather pleased with himself.

Gambit raised his eyebrows. “Only suspicions? I’d say that counts as a victory on our part.”

Steed laughed his quick, two-note laugh. “I must confess that it wasn’t the first time I suspected that something might be going on—always wrongly, it seemed. Hence why I could never be completely certain. But as long as it wasn’t affecting the job, I thought you’d work it out between you, one way or another.”

Purdey’s eyes widened almost comically. “Steed, you mean you thought that we—that Gambit and I—were—were...? Even before it happened?”

Gambit chuckled. “You don’t have to sound so offended, Purdey-girl.”

Steed wagged a finger. “Again, a gentleman doesn’t like to presume.”

“But that didn’t stop you,” Gambit said with a wicked smile. “What tipped you off? Did you catch me floating ten feet off the ground one morning?”

“Something like that,” Steed agreed. “Although, in my defence, I suspect you’ve kept rather a lot of people guessing as to what, exactly, might be going on.”

“Including us,” Gambit said wryly, shooting Purdey an encouraging smile. “Cheer up, Purdey-girl. If we’ve been keeping everyone guessing this long, they’re not liable to find out any time soon. If even Steed couldn’t work it out for sure, we must be doing something right.”

Purdey turned to Steed, suddenly concerned. “It isn’t that I didn’t want to tell you, Steed. I’ve been trying to keep it quiet to give us some time to let things evolve without anyone looking over our shoulders. It was easier for everyone that way.” 

Steed treated her to a slight bow. “Purdey, I’d like to think the three of us are the sort of friends who have the sense to know when something isn’t our business, and to not be offended when we’re kept in the dark as a result. And unless you disagree, I’d hazard that this was one of those times.”

Purdey’s relief was obvious. “I’m not sure the department will be quite as forgiving. Do you think they’ll find out?” she added, with a certain amount of anxiety.

Steed turned serious. “Even if they don’t, Purdey, you may wind up in the line of fire regardless if Thyme is planning to come after Gambit, so you really must take care. And if this does go down a rather more unpleasant path in the future, you may find yourself being asked some unpalatable questions by someone other than me. Others may develop their own suspicions, depending on how deep they dig. If they do, it might be in your best interests to come clean about your relationship. That gives you a modicum of control over the situation.” He nodded at them both. “At the very least, the pair of you ought to discuss your strategy concerning what you might do, and when.”

Gambit turned grim. “If it comes to that, and they have a problem with it, I don’t care if they want to sink my career. I’ll go. But I don’t want Purdey to have to pay for my past.”

“If Gambit goes, I’m going with him. As it is, I have half a mind to go on leave myself, just on principle,” Purdey said curtly, crossing her arms defiantly. “But then they’d question me anyway, wouldn’t they? It’s not as if I’m known for being objective where Gambit is concerned, regardless of what’s going on between us. If they think I’m somehow involved, lying about where I sleep isn’t exactly going to protect me, is it?”

“I’m loath to agree with you, but I’m afraid you’re right,” Steed lamented. “You’re involved by association, regardless of what happens. So am I, if it comes to it. We’ll all have to tread carefully. But if you were to go on leave now, out of solidarity, I’m afraid it’ll draw the sort of attention neither you nor Gambit can afford at the moment.” He smiled conspiratorially. “Not to mention that you’ll be able to learn infinitely more to help Gambit if you stay ‘on the inside’, so to speak.”

“Spying on the spies,” Purdey surmised. “It would be corny if it wasn’t so horribly fatalistic.”

“Oh, come now, it’s not that bad,” Steed soothed. “We don’t know that things are going to carry on as they are, or that they’ll get worse. Gambit will bide his time, and we’ll keep our eyes and ears open, and stay on the alert.” He glanced from one to the other reassuringly. “It’s a less than ideal situation, but not a hopeless one. And the first thing to do is go in this morning and not cause a fuss.”

Purdey sighed. “Oh, all right. But I’m not happy about it.”

Steed canted an eyebrow at Gambit. “I was expecting her to protest rather more vehemently. She really does care about you.”

“Steed!” Purdey huffed, but she was blushing slightly. 

Gambit’s smile was tender. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“But you won’t tell anyone?” Purdey pressed, regarding Steed intently. “Will you, Steed?”

Steed’s smile was warm. “I won’t say a word. As I said, unless it impinges on the job in some way that I can’t condone, it’s none of my concern, though others will undoubtedly disagree.” He gifted them both a bright smile. “And as it stands, I’m rather pleased for you both. I wish you every happiness and all the luck in the world.”

“Steed!” Purdey flung herself forward and hugged him tight, earning a delighted laugh from the senior agent. She’d only just pulled away when she felt Gambit step in behind her, and released him so Steed could shake Gambit’s extended hand.

“Not the first time you’ve played matchmaker, I’ll bet,” Gambit said knowingly.

“Oh, I think you’re giving me too much credit,” Steed demurred. “All I did was spot two people I thought might work well together. The pair of you did the rest.”

“He’s preparing his defence in case it all goes south, and McKay wants someone to blame,” Gambit quipped to Purdey, earning a nudge in the ribs.

“You are happy, then.” Steed was regarding them curiously now, observing their dynamic and realising how much had changed, and how much it had stayed the same.

“What do you think?” Gambit murmured, gaze drifting back to Purdey. “My feet haven’t touched the ground in weeks.”

“And as much as I hate to inflate that ego any further,” Purdey chipped in, eyes shining when they met Gambit’s, “yes, I’m quite happy, thank you.”

“Excellent!” Steed enthused. “It’s better to have something positive to hold onto, particularly if things go rather pear-shaped in this investigation.”

Purdey looked worried again, Steed’s words chasing away her smile. “Do you really think they will? Are the odds against us so terrible?”

“I think we have to be prepared for every eventuality,” Steed said frankly. “And from the way Gambit’s looking at me, I suspect he agrees.”

Purdey wheeled around to look at the man in question, and was rewarded with a rueful smile. “We’ve got to be realistic, Purdey-girl. There’s a good chance I won’t have a single secret left by the time this is over, and that includes you.”

Purdey pondered this particular quandary for a moment, then tilted her chin up defiantly. “Then they’ll find out,” she said simply. “Because I’d rather have you than a secret any day.”

“It may well come to that,” Steed warned. “So it’s just as well we know the stakes going in.” He arched an eyebrow at Gambit. “I don’t suppose I’d be presuming too much if I said you felt the same?”

“I don’t think you can overpresume when it comes to Purdey where I’m concerned,” Gambit murmured, wearing that same fond, soft, lovelorn expression Steed had noted in the early days after Purdey had joined the team. “Anyway, of all the secrets that I’ve had to carry over the years, Purdey’s definitely the best one.”

“Good,” Steed said smartly. “Now that we all know where we stand, let’s get back to business. Gambit, you’ll be all right while we’re gone?”

“I’ll entertain myself somehow,” Gambit assured, with a certain amount of weariness.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Purdey say dryly, moving to rest a hand alongside his cheek. “You will tell us if you see or hear anything at all, about Vanessa or otherwise?”

Gambit covered her hand with his, smiled reassuringly. “I promise.”

Purdey glanced at Steed, seemed to consider for a moment, then threw discretion to the winds and kissed Gambit in full view of the senior agent, this time without a modicum of embarrassment. “I’ll check on you at lunch,” she pronounced.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Gambit replied, following the well-worn script, but Steed had the sense that he was going to feel her absence more than he was letting on.

“Look after yourself,” Steed advised with a nod, ushering Purdey out the door. When they were gone, Gambit sighed. Things were definitely less-than-ideal, but at least he and Purdey had an ally now, in more ways than one. He turned to the dishes in the sink, and started to think of ways to distract himself for the day.

vvv

Mike Gambit awoke the next morning to light streaming in his window from a crack in the curtains. He eased an eye open and swivelled it around, slowly coming to terms with his return to consciousness. He turned his head and looked blearily at the watch face on the inside of his wrist. It was later than he normally woke up on a work day, but that wasn’t particularly problematic because he didn’t have to go to work. He let his arm flop back onto the bed with little grace. Normally getting the chance to have a lie-in was a bonus, but somehow being forced off-duty indefinitely due to past connections with a murderous gun-for-hire cast rather a pall over a few extra hours of shuteye. 

He stared at the ceiling and tried to put a positive spin on it. Purdey was always scolding him about negative thinking, after all. There had to be something good about being forced to take time off. There were always lots of other things he could be doing rather than getting shot at while saving the country from diabolical masterminds. Surely he could think of some way to use this unexpected extra time off to his advantage?

What did he usually do with time off? It had been awhile since he’d had any that he hadn’t spent with Purdey, their sudden bid for romance having been accompanied by an equally-fervent desire to make up for lost time by enjoying each other’s company in as full and meaningful a way as possible. He hadn’t spent many days or nights alone that hadn’t been more or less absorbed by the job since. But there had to be something he could be doing, if he reached his mind back far enough and recalled what life was like before Purdey had her romantic epiphany.

Spending a day, or an evening, with a pretty girl leapt immediately to mind as one way he had spent his time quite pleasantly in the past, but, of course, Purdey was the only woman in his life now, and she was, quite rightly, currently off fighting diabolical masterminds with Steed, rather than gracing his bed. It wasn’t Purdey being off in the thick of the action that bothered him—he just rather enjoyed being there with her. But Purdey wasn’t there, and wouldn’t be there until she was finished for the day, when inevitably she would come by to ensure that he wasn’t sinking into a deep depression or crawling the walls or turning into the sort of recluse his building definitely wouldn’t hold with when it came time to renew his lease. Which was why it was his job to figure out some other way to while away the hours without brooding on how Vanessa Thyme was still finding ways to ruin his life, even after he’d escaped from his cell back in 1973.

Hobbies! He had hobbies that he’d been neglecting. There were others that he did with Purdey, and those were the ones that had been getting all the attention of late, namely dancing, playing board games, watching old movies, playing the odd game of tennis or squash, and engaging in esoteric and/or philosophical debates at every opportunity. But there were just as many, or more, that he couldn’t do with Purdey. He had books he’d been meaning to read for months now, gathering dust on the shelf. There were a few DIY projects around the flat that he’d never gotten around to taking care of. There were a couple of crossbows he’d been looking for in the stores to add to his collection. And when was the last time he’d sat and sketched? He’d been looking at his drafting board for weeks now, thinking about how he hadn’t picked up a pencil properly in ages, and now here was his chance!

It was a plan, at least. A way to distract himself from what he was strongly suspected he couldn’t be distracted from. But at least he could try.

First things first. He sighed and propped himself up on his elbows, regarded the darkened room with practiced bleariness, then set about unwinding himself from his customary cocoon of covers. Finally free, he slid off the bed and onto the floor, settling cross-legged onto the carpet and closing his eyes, hands resting loose and open on his thighs. He breathed deep, letting peace and tranquility wash over him. He’d learned meditation through his karate training, and had come to value it just as much as the fighting skills. He needed that calmness now, that ability to shut down and retreat from the world, be at peace without demands or distractions, let his mind go somewhere else and unwind. These were things his personality demanded for his own sanity, and his job and his past had only made more necessary. He never timed how long he sat there, because that would defeat the purpose, but fifteen minutes went by and felt like hours. When he opened his eyes again, he felt more refreshed than he had when he’d woken up, and his worries had washed away, at least for the moment.

He got to his feet and quickly made the bed so he could retract it and clear the space, then commenced his morning workout, going through the motions of one of his favourite katas. The physicality of the routine cleared his head in a different way than the mediation, but it was just as satisfying, the sheer physicality of moving his body with expert precision never failing to bring him joy, even in stressful times. Sweat appeared on his skin, glistening in the light, and he let it trickle off of him, cleansing him, washing away the tremors of memory that tugged at his consciousness.

He finished and stood, shoulders heaving, in the middle of his flat, slowly returning to reality as if from a dream, his workout never failing to be consciousness altering. He considered showering, but he had no plans to go out. Not knowing who might be out there waiting for him, coupled with his own tendency to withdraw in times of stress, made the outside world seem decidedly unappealing. So, since Gambit knew that he was only going to wind up sweaty and dirty again anyway, he dug out a pair of jeans and a paintstained shirt and tugged them over his naked frame. He eschewed shaving as well, deciding to embrace the scruffy look in its entirety, and set about finding the paint to finish off that small corner of wall that he’d been meaning to get to for the past three months. 

vvv

Purdey strode through the Ministry corridors, pointedly ignoring the curious looks people gave her as she passed. News of Gambit’s enforced leave of absence had spread like wildfire, and since the man himself was, understandably, not available to be gawked at, his partner in crimefighting was serving as substitute. The day before she had worked with Steed at the stud farm, which had shielded them both from the madness of their place of work. But today Steed had made it clear that they had to make an appearance, that they couldn’t hide out forever. Better to face the music and dance, even if Purdey had never felt less like dancing in her life. Purdey flashed some of the less-subtle observers a quick, carefree smile and resisted the urge to pick up the pace. If they thought she was running from them, the rumour mill would kick into overdrive even faster.

Thankfully, no one had actually tried to talk to her about the whole mess, and Purdey was counting her blessings for that small mercy when McBain fell into step beside her. “Purdey,” he greeted officiously. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“That’s odd,” Purdey replied acridly, “since I’ve been working here since 1975.”

“You know what I mean,” McBain murmured surreptitiously, refusing to validate Purdey’s sarcasm. 

“McBain, I don’t claim to be telepathic at the best of times, let alone today,” Purdey said sharply. It wasn’t that she hated McBain. He was a good agent and a good man, but his rigid adherence to the rules and protocol, at the expense of loyalty and doing what needed to be done in the moment, often put him at loggerheads with her and Steed and Gambit. The reappearance of Vanessa Thyme had undoubtedly put Gambit in his crosshairs as potentially guilty of violating some rule or other, and she wasn’t in the mood to listen to any more conspiracy theories. There were enough of those already floating around the corridors.

McBain, to his credit, seemed to understand this, and changed his approach. “Please don’t misunderstand my intentions, Purdey. I realise Gambit’s suspension must put you in a difficult position.”

“Why would it?” Purdey countered, never breaking her stride. “It’s Gambit who’s been suspended, not me, and he hasn’t done anything wrong. He hasn’t even been accused of anything. I don’t like it, but I know he’ll be back as soon as everyone stops being so idoitic. And until he comes back, I plan to keep doing my job.”

McBain sighed in minor exasperation. “Yes, but you must know you’re tainted by association, regardless of whether you or Gambit have done anything wrong. They don’t suspend people for no reason, and just because you haven’t been suspended as well doesn’t mean they won’t if you give them a reason.”

“And do you think they will?” Purdey wanted to know, looking at him hard. “Suspend me? Because I am not going to turn my back on Gambit, whatever they threaten me with. I refuse.”

McBain held up his hands defensively. “I meant no offence. Purdey, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, especially after that business with Steed and the psychic. I think it’s admirable that you’re staying loyal to your partner, and I don’t believe there’s any evidence that Gambit has done anything wrong, either. At least, not at the moment. But that might change, and I wanted to warn you. You may find yourself faced with some very damning evidence, and some very tough decisions.”

Purdey furrowed her brow. “What sort of evidence? They’re not actually investigating Gambit for anything, are they?”

McBain looked at her meaningfully. “As I said, they don’t suspend people for no reason. I advise you to tread carefully, that’s all. Think of it as friendly advice.”

“‘Friendly’ doesn’t describe most of what’s happened in the past twenty-four hours,” Purdey observed tartly. “But thank you for the warning, McBain.”

McBain bowed his head slightly, a formality befitting a man who adhered closely to every other code of conduct, both written and unwritten. “I do hope anything that comes to light is in Gambit’s favour, for your sake as much as his.” Then he broke away and headed down another corridor before Purdey could press him further. She watched his retreating back with more than a modicum of foreboding, leavened with an equal measure of annoyance, then picked up the pace. She was through trying to put on a brave face—she wanted away from prying ears and eyes.

She reached her ultimate destination—Steed’s office—in a few minutes, and hurried inside without bothering to knock. The senior agent was on the telephone when she entered, and raised a staying hand to ensure her silence as he concluded his call. Purdey watched him carefully as she closed the office door quietly behind her. She’d known Steed long enough to detect the firm set of his mouth, a sure sign that whatever he was hearing on the other end of the line wasn’t something he was particularly pleased about.

“Right. Thank you for letting me know, Tommy. Of course I’ll tell him. And Purdey. Leave it with me.”

Purdey’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of their names. “Are we in trouble?” she asked Steed, settling gracefully into the chair across from his as he returned the receiver to its cradle.

“‘We’ aren’t. Not at the moment, anyway. But the top brass have launched an investigation into Gambit and his connections to Vanessa Thyme. They think it might have something to do with why she’s here.”

Purdey sank back into the chair in exasperation. “So it’s true,” she said bitterly.

Steed arched a bemused eyebrow. “What is?”

“That Gambit’s being investigated,” Purdey fumed, launching herself onto her feet in disgust. “I just received a not-too-subtle hint from McBain that someone was looking into Gambit. But I hoped it was going to be a little farther down the road than this.”

“I suspect he heard something this morning and this was his first opportunity to warn you,” Steed surmised. “Did he say anything else?”

“Just that I might be next on their list,” Purdey said, not bothering to hide her disgruntlement. “Guilt by association. Only Gambit hasn’t done anything wrong. If anything, he’s the victim. After all that woman did to him, they’re treating him like he’s some sort of reprobate.” She gripped the back of her chair angrily, turned pleading eyes on Steed. “Steed, can’t you do something? Put a good word in? There must be some strings you can pull.”

“If there were, I would have pulled them,” Steed pointed out, lacing his fingers on his desk. “Starting with Tommy, but he’s proving remarkably stubborn, and I doubt I’ll have better luck further up the chain. Until we have something concrete to fight against, we may have to sit tight and let nature take its course.”

Purdey slumped resignedly back into her chair. “It isn’t fair,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “After everything that Gambit’s done for this department, they’re treating him like a common criminal.”

“That’s the nature of the business.”

“Not for everyone,” Purdey countered. “If it were you, they’d show you a little more courtesy.”

“I think you’re rather forgetting the fact that I’ve been placed under investigation several times this past year,” Steed pointed out with a small, ironic smile. “No one’s above suspicion, Purdey. Not in this line of work. We must be very careful about erecting idols, and eternally willing to tear them down.”

Purdey’s expression turned thoughtful. “Hideous the work we do.”

“Eh?”

“Something Gambit told me you said once.” Purdey smiled tautly. “I suppose no one can say we weren’t warned.”

Steed smiled back, with a touch more cheer. “And speaking of warning, shall I pay a visit to Gambit and let him know the hideousness of the job has suddenly turned its ugly gaze on him?”

“No, I’ll do it,” Purdey said with a sigh. “After work. We’ll let him have one day away from it, at least. He’s already brooding about Vanessa Thyme being in town as it is. Do you have something for me?”

“Yes, as it happens.” Steed picked up a file from his desk and handed it over. “Research. Should take you all day. I thought it would be best if we didn’t stray too far afield for the moment. In case we’re needed.”

Purdey smiled conspiratorially. “Well, we are already guilty by association.”

Steed nodded mock-seriously agreement. “And it would be a shame to disappoint them. I’ll see you later, shall I?”

vvv

Purdey took the little-used back stairwell downstairs to the file room, in hopes of avoiding any more probing glances and whispered asides. As she hoped, no one was using that route, which had long ago been eclipsed by the newer, rejuvenated main staircase that had been added to the building during its last renovation. As she made her way to Files, Purdey was optimistic that she might be able to avoid people for the rest of the day, tucked up in a corner with only her dossiers for company. Sadly, her hopes were dashed the moment she set foot inside the inner records sanctum and saw Larry Carrington, one-time victim of the brain-draining machine, waiting at Sandy the file clerk’s desk. Before she had a chance to turn around and leave, he caught sight of her and waved, and Purdey slunk resignedly over to join him. She’d enjoyed flirting with Larry in the past, particularly when she could use it to get a rise out of Gambit. But Gambit wasn’t there, and Purdey knew that Larry’s ongoing game of one-upmanship with her partner meant that he was going to want to discuss Gambit’s recent fall from grace, the one thing she was hoping to avoid discussing with anyone after her encounter with McBain. She didn’t feel much like flirting, either. Hopefully she could steer the conversation away from both.

“Purdey!” Larry greeted, clearly delighted that she was joining him. “What brings you down here?”

“I don’t know about you,” Purdey said dryly, “but I often find the urge to do some work during the day. You?”

Larry laughed at her sarcasm, but didn’t appear particularly put off by it. “I’m following your example. Research. For an investigation I’ve been assigned.”

“Here we are, Larry,” Sandy, the man in charge of this particular records room, announced, carrying over a rather thick sheath of files. “Everything we have on the books. I’ll, uh, need that form you promised me before I can sign them out.”

“Of course.” Larry retrieved a piece of paper from his inside-breast pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Sandy, who set his burden on the desktop to receive it. Acting out of idle curiousity, Purdey tilted her head and read the labels on the stack of files Sandy had just retrieved.

“That’s Gambit’s personal file!” she exclaimed, head whipping up in surprise.

“The very same,” Larry confirmed, patting the pile of dossiers proprietarily. “Let’s hope he’s had as exciting a life as he’s led us to believe. Otherwise I’m going to be falling asleep on the job.”

“But you’re not allowed to read other agents’ personal files,” Purdey protested, looking from Larry to Sandy and back again. “Not without special permission.”

“Which I have,” Larry cut in, with a nod at the piece of paper he’d given to Sandy. “Straight from McKay himself.”

Purdey felt her heart stop as realisation dawned. “You’re the one investigating Gambit?”

“Well, not only me. I have a couple of assistants. But yes, I’ve been put in charge of looking into Gambit’s history with Thyme.”

Purdey shook her head vehemently. “But that isn’t fair. You’ve never liked him.”

“That’s the point. Unbiased perspective.” Larry looked smug. “They know I won’t be soft on him.”

“So they chose someone who’d condemn him instead?” Purdey shot back, seething.

“Come on, Purdey. I’m willing to give him as much of a chance as he’d give me,” Larry quipped, treating her to a sickly smile.

“That’s the difference between you and him,” Purdey corrected, jaw tightening almost painfully. “Gambit would give you the benefit of the doubt, no matter what he thought of you. He wouldn’t put you down as a traitor, not out of spite. He has more integrity than that.”

Larry’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’m sorry you have such a low opinion of me,” he snapped, grabbing the files off the desk and tucking them under his arm. “Because I’m going to do my job whether you like it or not, and I’m not going to let whatever idealised notion you have about your partner cloud my judgment.” He stepped in close, locked his gaze with hers. “Mike Gambit is hiding something. From all of us. And I’m going to find out what it is.”

“We’re all hiding something,” Purdey countered, meeting Larry’s glare with one of her own. “Everyone in this business is. Even you, Larry.” 

“Maybe,” Larry allowed. “But not all of our secrets are treasonous. And if I were a betting man, I’d say whatever Gambit is hiding leads straight back to Vanessa Thyme.” He searched her face and a thought seemed to occur to him. “And if I wanted to up the ante, I’d say you already knew what it is, in which case, let me give you some advice. Come clean before he drags you down with him. Because whatever it is, I promise you, I’ll find it. Then you’ll want me to be biased, for your sake, but it’ll be too late for me to go easy on you then.” He turned and started to walk away. “Think about it, Purdey,” he called back, leaving her standing there, fuming and alone. “Before it’s too late.”


	13. A Brief Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Exhausted, Gambit let himself slump to the floor, legs bending at the knee as he settled against the wall to admire his handiwork. He’d finished painting the wall and it was drying nicely. He’d found a roll of film taken several months ago that hadn’t been developed and killed a few hours in the dark room. He’d read one of the shorter books on his formidable ‘to read’ pile cover to cover over a lunch he’d cobbled together from whatever he could find in his fridge and pantry, which had kept him from thinking of other, less-palatable things while he ate. He’d spent most of the afternoon sketching, and, once he’d noticed the state of his flat after his activity-filled day, capped it all off with a rather vigourous cleaning session. If he hadn’t completely distracted himself from his woes, then no one could accuse him of not making a very good effort.

“I see you’ve been busy.”

Purdey’s voice came as a welcome surprise, and he shifted around to find her leaning against his doorframe, keys still dangling from elegant fingers. “This is all very domestic Will you do my flat next?” she asked airly. “I’ve been meaning to clean the oven for ages.”

“That all depends on how you’ll pay me for my services,” Gambit quipped back, looking up at her with eyes dancing.

“Oh, I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,” Purdey said primly, as she sauntered over to where he sat and slid to the floor next to him. “I’ve heard about this,” she mused, stretching her long legs out and crossing them at the ankle. She surveyed the state of the flat, then the state of the man himself. “A man gets into a committed relationship, and then lets himself go.” 

“I have not let myself go,” Gambit retorted flatly.

“Haven’t you?” Purdey looked him over with a sceptical eye. “Then it’s worse than I thought.”

“Don’t you have something else to do?” Gambit asked sardonically. “Rotate your tyres? Rearrange your record collection? Return all those casserole dishes you’ve stolen from Steed?”

“I borrowed them.”

“For two years?”

“He hasn’t even noticed they’re gone.”

“Except when he had that dinner party,” Gambit pointed out. “Do you know, I think that’s only one of three times I’ve actually heard him swear.”

“Four,” Purdey corrected, then added at his bemused look, “but you were out of your head on cooking sherry at the time. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

Gambit arched an eyebrow. “Cooking sherry?”

“Well, we were all out of gin and those cocktails weren’t going to mix themselves,” Purdey said nonchalantly.

Gambit blanched. “I thought I’d been poisoned that night!”

“You nearly were, insisting on having that awful pie at three in the morning on the way home.” Purdey shivered dramatically. “If I hadn’t been there, you might not have survived.”

Gambit looked at her long and hard. “There are things I need to ask you one of these days.”

Purdey smiled secretively. “And I just might tell you. If you’re good.”

“Now I’m not sure I want to know.” Gambit feigned suppressing a shudder. They considered the now-sparkling flat once more for a moment in silence. “Anything interesting happen at the Ministry today?” Gambit asked eventually, almost too casually. Purdey chanced a sidelong glance at him, and noticed he was looking pointedly at his dining room table with studied disinterest. He was making a great effort at pretending not to care, as attested to by the fact that he’d refrained from asking her about what was going on the second she’d arrived.

Purdey had rather hoped to avoid having that particular conversation for awhile yet. For a moment, sitting there, bantering with Gambit about nothing of consequence, it had been wonderfully ordinary, a respite from all the nastiness out in the real world. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about what she’d found out that day from McBain, Steed, and, worst of all, Larry. “Steed’s put me on research,” she said nonchalantly, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. “I spent all day going through dusty old files, so you didn’t miss very much.” She paused and considered. “Then again, given how much time you spend in the file room, that probably makes you feel more left out than you would if you missed taking down a double agent, doesn’t it?”

Gambit snorted in amusement. “First you accuse me of letting myself go, now you’re calling me boring. Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Only that I know you better than you do, Mike Gambit,” Purdey quipped, earning a grin from Gambit, but it was short-lived.

“There’s something else,” he said quietly, eyes searching her face. Purdey cursed internally. She wanted to delay bringing up the investigation for as long as possible. Gambit had enough on his mind as it was, and if there was any good to be found in his suspension, it was the protection it afforded him from all the gossip and innuendo buzzing around the Ministry’s corridors. She knew Steed had left her with the responsibility of informing Gambit about the investigation, and at the time she’d thought she was the best person to tell him. But sitting there, face to face with him, she suddenly found it wasn’t as easy a task as she’d first thought.

“What do you mean?” she tried, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible.

Gambit pursed his lips. “Come on, Purdey-girl. I know you better than that. Whatever it is, let’s get it over with. It can’t make things much worse.”

“This is why you shouldn’t bet on the horses,” Purdey sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall, deflated. She could feel Gambit tense beside her, but keeping him in the dark was no longer a kindness. “Apparently, your being suspended isn’t enough for the top brass. You’re also being investigated.”

Gambit started in surprise, and Purdey knew whatever bleak situation he’d been envisioning, he hadn’t been expecting that. “Investigated? For what?”

“In relation to your connection with Vanessa Thyme.”

“Connection?” Gambit’s outrage was palpable. “What connection? She tortured me for three months. She’s not on my bloody Christmas card list.”

“Maybe not. But apparently, the time you spent together warrants them digging through your past as though you were a common criminal.” Purdey couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her own voice. “I don’t understand it, either, but it’s happening. And it gets worse.”

Gambit groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not, but you’ll go mad if I don’t tell you,” Purdey said matter-of-factly. “They’ve put Larry in charge of the investigation.”

Gambit dropped his hands and looked at her incredulously. “Larry?” he repeated sceptically. “Brain-drained Larry?”

“The very same.”

“Brilliant.” Gambit squeezed his eyes shut. “Heaven knows what he’ll find, but he’ll do his damnedest to make his report as incriminating as possible. They may as well arrest me now.”

“I did come to that conclusion all on my own,” Purdey agreed glumly. “Apparently they think it’s better if the investigator is biased against you.”

“For who? The firing squad?”

Purdey pulled the corners of her mouth back as she sucked her teeth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. Steed was going to do the honours, but I said I would. I could have kept quiet, and neither you or Steed would have known if I hadn’t.”

“I can see you have a high opinion of both of our deductive skills,” Gambit said dryly. “You know we would’ve worked it out sooner or later. No, you were right to tell me. None of this is your fault. This is my mess.” He rubbed his temples as though staving off a headache. “And I thought this whole thing couldn’t get any worse.”

“Never mind,” Purdey replied, springing into action and slinging one leg over him so she could straddle his lap. “We’ll just have to find a way to make things better,” she asserted, before covering his mouth with hers.

“Is this another attempt to distract me?” Gambit managed between kisses.

“No. It’s my way of trying to distract both of us,” Purdey corrected, unbuttoning her coat and slipping it off her shoulders so she could cast it aside. “Is it working?”

“More than it should,” Gambit admitted, voice slightly muffled as his hands dropped to her waist. He groaned as Purdey ground her hips against his. “You should have tried this when I asked you what was going on at work. I would’ve forgotten all about it.”

Purdey’s mouth stretched into a smile mid-kiss. “I’ll remember that for next time,” she promised, and started working the button on his jeans. 

“I thought I’d let myself go,” Gambit reminded teasingly between kisses.

“You have,” Purdey confirmed, unzipping the garment and working both it down his hips. “But in a very attractive way.”

“I’ll have to remember that for next time,” Gambit quipped, hands sliding her dress up her thighs and out of the way.

“I certainly will,” Purdey murmured appreciatively, temporarily banishing all thoughts of the investigation and everything else. She leaned forward, braced a hand against the wall and the other on his shoulder. Gambit cupped the back of her head, drew her into another kiss, savoured the sensation of her body against his. Despite recent developments, Purdey was still here, still on his side, and whatever other travails were coming his way, he knew he wasn’t alone in this mess. Not this time. Purdey wasn’t going to go back to work and leave him to his fate, and that realisation alone was almost enough to make him weep.

That sentiment mingled with a multitude of others, all pleasurable, and lasted well past the point when Purdey sagged against him as her body went deliciously limp. “Are you sufficiently distracted, Mike Gambit?” she whispered in his ear after a moment, as they lay panting in the aftermath.

“For now,” Gambit managed, cradling her against him like the precious cargo she was. “Although you might have to distract me again later.”

Purdey laughed, a real, genuine, merry laugh, in spite of the odds facing them, and he loved her for it. “I’ll see what I can do.”

vvv

Having finished the washing up from dinner, Purdey twitched the curtain covering Gambit’s kitchen window aside, peered down into the street below, and grimaced. Even with the full compliment of cars of all shapes and sizes that crowded the curb in this busy neighbourhood, the grey four door sedan stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. She narrowed her eyes, both in anger, and in an to attempt to identify the figure occupying the driver’s seat.

“How’s my watcher?” Gambit asked casually, from where he was seated on the couch. 

Purdey hurriedly let the curtain fall back into place. “What watcher?” she asked innocently.

“The one outside. You should give him a wave. He might be lonely.” 

“Gambit!” Purdey was outraged at his flippancy.

Gambit paid her no heed. “He was on this side of the street last time I checked, but he might have moved.” He looked up at Purdey expectantly. “Well?”

“He’s relocated to across the street,” Purdey said briskly, grateful that the whistle of the kettle gave her an excuse to turn her back on him. “Not that I was looking for him.”

“Of course you were,” Gambit said knowingly, rearranging the Scrabble tiles on the stand in front of him. “So was I. He moved in last night, probably thought I wouldn’t notice him in the dark. At first he thought he was just looking out for Vanessa, but now, given what you’ve told me, I know he’s keeping a close eye on what I’m up to.” He scratched his stubble thoughtfully. “I guess I should be flattered.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s a terrible compliment,” Purdey said, with a modicum of venom in her voice, picturing herself dumping the boiling water in the kettle onto the watcher’s head rather than pouring it into her cup. “It’s insulting, offensive, degrading--”

“And expected,” Gambit finished, plucking a tile up and stretching to put it on the board, then frowning when he realised the word in question wouldn’t work. “How many times have we given someone else the same treatment?” he went on, returning the tile resignedly to join its cohorts.

“Yes, but that’s different,” Purdey argued, carrying her tea cup from the kitchen to the couch, where she set it on the coffee table beside the Scrabble board. “It wasn’t—”

“Me?” There was nothing to stop her from meeting Gambit’s eyes this time, as he looked up from beneath heavy lids and those ridiculous crinkly brows that were so completely him, and therefore completely lovable. “Sorry, Purdey-girl. I don’t get special treatment on your say so.”

“You ought to,” Purdey huffed, crossing her legs and arms in a double expression of her annoyance. “It’s all so ridiculous. If they put all the resources they’re pouring into investigating you into looking for Vanessa, it’d make more sense and it wouldn’t be an insult to every agent who’s loyally served his country.”

“As far as they’re concerned, all those resources are going toward the same cause,” Gambit pointed out. “And if they can’t hang her, they’ll settle for me, provided the evidence lines up the way they’d like.”

“Larry will make it line up,” Purdey said sourly, rearranging her own tiles more for something to do than any real attempt to make a word. 

Gambit chuckled morosely. “He can always find an angle. That’s one thing you can say for good old Larry.”

“I could say a few things,” Purdey said darkly. “And I wish you would, too. At least on this board. It’s been your turn for ages.”

Gambit grinned ruefully at her over the crisscrossing lines of letters. “You’re the linguist. Is ‘gxblt’ valid in any language?”

“Knowing you, it’s probably something intolerably offensive in Polish,” Purdey opined, picking up her tea cup and taking a sip. 

Gambit brightened. “If I’d known rude words were fair game, I would’ve spelled something different three turns ago.”

“I’m not going to do you the favour of asking what it was,” Purdey declared, leaning back against the couch’s arm. “Think of something fast, before I decide to go outside and throttle that watcher.”

“That doesn’t give me much incentive,” Gambit said wryly, but he turned his weary eyes back to the tiles nonetheless.

“Maybe if you see them in a new light,” Purdey suggested, switching on the lamp on the side table.

“I thought bad jokes were my line?”

“I can’t be expected to be effortlessly witty at all hours. I’ve had a very trying day.” Purdey’s gaze had been drawn by a brown envelope next to the lamp. “What’s this?”

 

Gambit glanced up briefly as she picked the packet up and opened it. “Oh, that. I had a roll of film I hadn’t developed yet. Thought I might as well do it now.”

Purdey tipped the photos onto her lap and started to go through them. “When were these taken?”

“Uh, last summer sometime,” Gambit murmured distractedly. “Early July, I think.”

“July,” Purdey repeated, somewhat darkly. “That was an awful month. I felt like one massive raw nerve because it was right after that awful business with—“ She caught herself before she said ‘Larry’, but she knew she didn’t have to say the name for Gambit to know who she meant. She looked worriedly at Gambit, but he was staring resolutely at his Scrabble tiles with a heartbreaking expression that put all the aggravation about being investigated to shame.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know we made amends after you were drugged, but it was still a relief to go to France, to be honest.”

“Yes,” Purdey agreed sadly, wishing she’d left the pictures alone, but somehow compelled to keep looking at them. “I suppose that’s why Steed forced us to go to that party before we left. We barely knew those people as it was.”

“That’s why I brought the camera,” Gambit volunteered unenthusiastically. “Gave me something to do, but I wasn’t really bothered about the results.”

“Still, they’re quite good,” Purdey tried, wanting to banish the shadows from his features. “You’ve always had an eye for a good angle.”

“Or curve,” came the automatic quip, and for once, Purdey let it slide.

“Steed looks very dapper, as always,” Purdey went on, flicking through several shots of the senior agent with guests. “Everyone else looks like they’re trying too hard to enjoy themselves. Oh.” She held up one photo. “You couldn’t have taken this one. You’re in it.”

“I let Steed hold the camera for a few minutes while I got a drink,” Gambit recalled. “It’s probably one of his. What about it?”

Purdey was suddenly transfixed by the picture. It had been shot through a gap in the crowd, with Purdey and Gambit framed in the middle, her looking away and off to the side, him looking at…her. “The way you’re looking at me.” She looked up from the picture, met his eyes. “After what happened, I didn’t think you’d ever look at me the same way again. I half-expected you to hate me. I certainly didn’t think, so soon after, that you’d look at me like, like…”

“Like I loved you?” Gambit finished simply, smile a little crooked. “Come on, Purdey. My heart might have been broken a little, and maybe we were a bit awkward around one another for awhile. But that didn’t mean I suddenly stopped loving you.”

“Not even for a second?” Purdey said softly, eyes twinkling merrily.

The look in Gambit’s eye was in danger of reducing her to a pile of goo. “Not even for a second.”

Purdey put the pictures aside and crawled across the couch to curl up beside him. “That’s enough of the game,” she decided, when they were almost nose to nose.

“But I haven’t thought of a word,” Gambit murmured, as Purdey leaned in closer. 

“Never mind,” she said softly, laying a hand aside his cheek. “That photo’s already said several for you.”

vvvv

A little while later, when the shadows were starting to steal across the ceiling, Gambit sighed resignedly. “You should go,” he murmured reluctantly, though the way the arm he had wrapped around her waist tightened revealed that his own desires ran counter to his words.

Purdey raised her head from his chest and scowled in bemusement. “What on earth for?”

“If they’re investigating me, and they have my place under surveillance,” Gambit reasoned, sounding mildly annoyed with himself coming up with this argument, despite the perfectly sound logic at its base. “And if we’re still keeping what’s going on between us a secret from everyone other than Steed, we can only push our luck so far. You checking in on me after work? Okay. You staying on after dinner to keep me company? Plausible. You staying the night?” He shook his head wryly. “I think even given our unconventional track record that they might jump to conclusions.”

“All right,” Purdey accepted, settling her head back down on his chest. “But why not let them find out? I’m starting to wonder if it matters who knows what by this point. After all, Larry’s already decided I’m not objective when it comes to you.”

“There’s a difference between you being not being objective because I’m your partner, and you not being objective because we’re sleeping together,” Gambit pointed out with relentless logic. “Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but as soon as you add sex to the equation, everyone reads a relationship differently. I hate to say it, but your instinct about how getting involved with your partner would reflect on you professionally was dead on.” He could almost hear Purdey brooding at the notion, but pressed on anyway. “It’s not fair, but you know I’m right, and I still don’t want you to lose your job because of me.”

“Given the circumstances, I’m not sure I’d mind,” Purdey said blithely, molding her form to his. “But it would make it rather difficult for me to act as your inside woman. So--” She sat upright, sheet draping elegantly over her frame. “—I will go, but only because it’ll help you.”

Gambit raised an eyebrow. “So you’re going to leave me all alone in my bed for my own good?”

“Isn’t that what you asked me to do?” Purdey pointed out sweetly.

Gambit played the conversation back in his head. “I suppose I did. Not my smartest move, eh?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Purdey murmured, leaning in to give him a kiss. “I think you just proved, not for the first time, that you’re a self-sacrificing idiot. And that self-sacrificing idiocy is one of the many reasons why I’m going to continue being your woman on the inside.” Her expression turned serious, and she ran a comfortlingly cool hand over his forehead. “We’re going to find a way through this,” she promised, “somehow.”

Gambit looked up into her eyes, regarded her with a mixture of love and admiration. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Purdey-girl,” he admitted.

“Luckily for you, you won’t have to find out,” Purdey declared, slipping out of the bed. “Now I really had better get dressed, or they’ll have something else to talk about in the break room tomorrow.”


	14. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Two weeks passed. Gambit went about his day-to-day life as best he could. He worked out. He read. He drew. He worked his way through the textbook on advanced mathematics lent to him by a certain ‘E. Knight’, as the owner had identified herself on the inside of the front cover. He made more trips to the grocery store than he’d had time for in the past six months, all in aid of ever more elaborate recipes that he suddenly had all the time in the world to try. His flat had never been in better nick. Both the XJS and the Range Rover were almost ridiculously well-serviced. Purdey came by every day after work with any news of the investigation she had been able to glean from the rumour mill and her own inquiries. They had dinner, played Scrabble, watched the telly, talked about anything and everything, and danced to practically every record Gambit owned, fast or slow. Neither of them had the heart to venture to a restaurant or to the disco or anywhere at all, not with the spectre of Vanessa Thyme possibly lurking in the background, watching them, at the back of both their minds. The idea was so unpalatable that it quashed any possible enjoyment that they might have been able to glean from an evening out. 

Steed had, by mutual agreement, kept his distance so at least one of them could maintain some pretence of objectivity in the Ministry’s eyes. Purdey, on the other hand, was firmly in Larry’s crosshairs as in sympathy with the enemy, and could see no downside to continuing to contact Gambit, both for her own sake and to pass on messages from Steed. To either agent’s knowledge, there had been no further sightings of Vanessa Thyme, and no indication as to what her reasons for visiting London were. Status reports on the progress of the investigation into Gambit’s past were ominously absent, but Gambit wasn’t naïve enough to believe that that meant nothing incriminating had been found—or something innocuous wasn’t being spun to look as damning as possible. But for the moment, at least, Gambit’s life had settled into an uneventful sort of monotony.

It was driving Gambit quietly mad.

It wasn’t the domesticity itself that was getting to him. Gambit’s introverted personality meant he could amuse himself quite happily for hours on end. But being forced to sit by while his colleagues carried on in the high-action world of espionage was starting to grate. The fact that Steed and Purdey were electing to take on less-glamorous assignments to stay close to the investigation and any intel that might trickle through the cracks only made him feel worse, like the proverbial albatross around their necks, weighing them down and preventing them from getting on with their lives. His current professional limbo, coupled with his own self-imposed limits—no visits to family or friends lest they, too, find themselves tangled up in the web of vague threats and potential danger that currently constituted his life—meant that Gambit found himself in what felt increasingly like a prison of his own making. Who needed Larry and his accusations when he was perfectly capable of making himself miserable all on his own?

For that reason, when he returned home after an uneventful morning at the local Tesco’s for what he hoped would be a slap-up lunch, he checked the mailbox in his building’s lobby expecting nothing particularly remarkable. Setting his bag of groceries on the floor, he inserted the key in the lock and opened the door to find a small stack of letters, and one large manila envelope. Gambit picked them up and gave the envelopes a cursory glance as he relocked the box. He operated under the assumption that someone was going through his mail before it reached him, something he himself had done when investigating others in the past. But as he wasn’t expecting anything particularly remarkable to come through the post, he doubted they’d find anything to incriminate him on that front, at least. As he picked up the grocery bag and flipped through the stack, catching sight of what looked suspiciously like a letter from his aunt, he came upon the manila envelope and frowned. Unlike the rest of the mail, it was blank, with no name, address, or postmark. Gambit’s jaw tightened grimly. Whatever was inside hadn’t been sent to him through the post. That meant someone had broken into his box and planted it there, and since Purdey and Steed were perfectly capable of handing over anything they might want to give him in person, he had a sneaking suspicion that whoever had gone to all that trouble hadn’t done it because it was in his best interest.

He certainly wasn’t going to open it on the spot, with his building’s glass front doors providing an unfettered view into the lobby for any watchers who might be stationed outside. So he gathered his groceries and his mail as casually as possible and made for the lifts.

It seemed to take an absolute age to travel up to the top floor, and Gambit found himself jittering impatiently at each stop, smiling tightly at his fellow building occupants when they shot him nervous glances. Finally, after an agonisingly long trip, he reached his floor and made for his flat as quickly as he could without looking conspicuous, already snatching his keys from his pocket so he would be ready by the time he reached his door. Once inside, he dumped the grocery bags unceremoniously on the kitchen counter, letting the mail fan out untidily across the surface. He tore the manila envelope open without hesitation and tipped it over. A single roll of film slid out and deposited itself in his palm. Gambit frowned, pinching the envelope open and looking inside, but there was nothing else—no note, no explanation, nothing. Gambit laid the envelope on the table, vowing to dust it for prints, if he hadn’t already mucked up whatever was there with his own, and returned his attention to the film. It was a perfectly innocuous roll, not labelled or altered in any way. He shook it but the rattle it emitted was nothing he hadn’t heard before from his holiday snaps. He set it on the kitchen counter, then went to the bar and poured himself a scotch. He stared at the offending article as he drank, wondering if he ought to call it in, then immediately decided against it. Whatever was on the film, if it was incriminating, could do him more harm than good. Better to see what was on it first, then decide where to go from there. Gambit set his glass down with resolve, gathered the groceries, and proceeded to shove them hastily into his pantry and fridge. He’d lost his appetite.

vvv

Some time later, Gambit found himself staring down at dozens of black and white photographs fanned out across his dining room table, sleeves still rolled up, the acrid stench of chemicals stinging his eyes as the fumes curled their way out of his darkroom and wafted off the rag he’d used to clean his hands. The photos had been taken at some distance, but there was no mistaking the subjects. Gambit felt sick.

There he was, standing on the sidewalk in front of his block of flats. And there was Purdey, with her hand on his chest, reassuring him one final time before she left him for the evening. With a terrible sinking feeling he looked at the next picture. Purdey, at the Ministry now, climbing out of her car. Purdey meeting Steed on the steps to the building. Purdey leaving again at the end of the day. Gambit felt his heart speed up as he glanced at each shot, but the last one was the clincher. It showed Purdey, striding across the street from her car to her flat. And the time stamp on the photo: that day at 12:43 p.m. Gambit checked his watch. 2:45. Two hours ago. He rubbed a hand over his face in horror, pondering the obvious implications of the photos. Not only did Vanessa—and Gambit was as certain as he could be without the woman handing the snaps over to him herself that they were from her--know about Purdey, she knew they were involved. And she was showing him that she could gain access to the blonde at any time. Gambit snatched up the envelope, registered once more that there was no stamp, no postmark. She’d wangled it into his box, somehow, proving that he was as vulnerable as Purdey. Vulnerable…

Oh hell, Purdey…

Gambit raced to his phone, frantically dialled Purdey’s number. The phone rang once, twice, thrice. 

“Come on, Purdey,” Gambit urged. “Pick up the phone.”

The incessant burring was all that greeted him. Cursing under his breath, Gambit slammed the receiver down and snatched up the pictures and envelope, before racing out the door.

Gunning the Jaguar, he tossed the pictures on the seat, narrowly missing a young couple trying to cross the street in his haste as he peeled out. Purdey’s flat wasn’t far, but the drive was long enough, even at top speed, for Gambit to curse himself. If only he’d looked at the mail earlier instead of going for groceries first. Vanessa could have done anything since she’d taken the photos. Gambit tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Purdey was trained, that she could handle herself. But that didn’t stop unspeakable images from flashing through his mind. If something happened to Purdey because of him… Gambit wasn’t sure what he’d do, but he knew he’d never be the same.

Everything looked peaceful at Purdey’s flat when he arrived, but then again, it had looked just as peaceful when the half-Cybernaut Felix Kane had smashed his way in, and Purdey had nearly met her end that time. Parking the Jag illegally, he rushed down the 21 steps two or three at a time, jumping the last five, praying all the way. 

Her door was intact, at least, and Gambit hammered on it for all he was worth. 

“Purdey! Purdey, are you there? Purdey, please, open the door!” There was no response. Gambit considered kicking it in, then thought better of it. They’d need the door intact if Purdey was going to have any sort of security. If she was still there…

Gambit delved in his pocket for his keys, found his spare, somehow managed to get the door unlocked with shaking hands. Pushing it open cautiously, he peeked into the flat. Everything seemed to be in order. Creeping in, he closed the door behind him, scanning the room for any sign of a struggle, anything out of the ordinary. When he’d established that no one was there, he headed for the bedroom, calling her name. He’d just made it through the beaded curtains when he ran smack into someone coming the other way. There was a muffled “Oof,” and Gambit looked down to see a mop of damp blonde hair. Purdey brushed some of it out of her eyes and stared up at him.

“Mike, what—?“ she began, but Gambit had already seized her by the shoulders.

“Purdey!” he exclaimed, feeling a wash of relief as he pulled the girl to him. “Oh, Purdey, Purdey-girl, am I glad to see you!”

“I can tell,” Purdey commented, voice muffled from Gambit’s chest. “Honestly, Mike, it’s only been a few hours since I saw you. I’ve heard of not wanting to spend a moment apart, but this is ridiculous.”

“I’m just relieved to find you alive,” Gambit murmured into her hair, happy to feel her in his arms, and Purdey started at his words.

“What are you going on about?” she wanted to know, pulling away to search his face. Were those tears she detected in the blue-green eyes? She suddenly noticed a tremor in the arms encircling her. “Mike, you’re shaking! What’s happened?”

“You’ve been compromised,” Gambit answered cryptically, scanning the flat. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?”

Purdey pointed to her damp hair. “I’ve been in the bath for the past half hour, submerged up to my nose. I only heard the door because I surfaced for soap. I was on my way to let you in...” She trailed off and seemed to consider Gambit’s hasty entrance. “You did use the key I gave you? Because I don’t relish those trips to the locksmith for all the latches you seem so fond of ignoring.”

“I did,” Gambit confirmed absently. “Are you alone?”

Purdey frowned. “Of course not.”

Gambit jerked in surprise. “Who else is here?”

“You,” Purdey pointed out.

Gambit sighed in exasperation. “Besides me.”

“No one,” Purdey confirmed, frown deepening. “Mike, what’s this all about?”

“This.” Gambit extracted the envelope of photos from his inside breast pocket and handed it to her, then set about the flat closing windows and drawing curtains.

Purdey surveyed the photographs with dismay. She glanced up at Gambit as he drew the bedroom curtains. “Vanessa?” she asked knowingly.

“Yeah,” Gambit replied, working his jaw as his eyes darted about the room, seeking out any other gaps in security. “Why do you think I’m worried?”

“You really did see her, then,” Purdey said quietly. “It wasn’t your imagination.”

“And she’s not planning on leaving us alone,” Gambit concluded, coming to stand beside her once more. “She’s letting me know that she can get you, me, both of us, any time she wants. And I’m inclined to believe her.” He fixed her with serious blue-green eyes, intent on taking in every detail of her face. “You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary today, did you? Tails, a car, anything?”

Purdey shook her head. “I wasn’t looking for anything,” she muttered angrily, cursing herself for letting her guard down. “I thought since our people were watching both you and her—well, I didn’t think there was anything to worry about.” She looked at the last picture, taken that day. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Gambit waved her off. “Don’t be. I’m just happy to find you alive and intact. And I aim to keep it that way.”

Purdey nodded in agreement. “What’s our next move?”

Gambit was about to answer when the phone shrilled, shattering the late afternoon silence of the flat. Purdey and Gambit started, then exchanged rueful glances over their shared raw nerves.

“Phone,” Gambit observed.

“Phone,” Purdey confirmed, and wandered into the living room to answer it. “Hello?”

“May I speak to the Major, please?” The voice was confident, and most definitely female. Purdey felt her blood run cold.

“Who is this?” she queried, although she was fairly certain she knew the answer. Gambit, lost in his thoughts, looked her way at the question, and Purdey’s eyes communicated a wealth of information. He was already halfway across the room when the voice replied.

“I think you know exactly who I am, Miss Bryde. Put Major Gambit on, please.” 

Purdey moved the receiver away from her face, handed it to Gambit. “Her?” he mouthed, and she nodded. Gambit’s face lost the remainder of its colour, but he squared his jaw and put the receiver to his ear. “Gambit.”

“Major.” And three months of hell came flashing back in an instant, threatening to smother him, drown him, overwhelm his senses, all with one word spoken in that unmistakable voice that sounded entirely too friendly considering the circumstances. “I thought I’d find you there. Naturally you’d want to rush to her side. I’m glad I didn’t misjudge you.” There was a pause. “I trust you found the photographs?”

“I did. You’ve made your point. What the devil do you want?” Gambit snapped, in no mood for pleasantries. 

“No need to get tetchy, Major. I simply want to schedule a meeting, talk, catch up on old times.”

Gambit felt his whole body tense with anticipation. This was the nub of the matter. He swallowed, asked the question that was expected of him. “When?”

“Tomorrow. Seven p.m. The Arlington Club. I’d tell you to come alone, but I doubt you’d listen. I’ll settle for the guard dogs waiting outside.”

“And if I don’t?” Gambit had a pretty good idea of what might happen, but he wanted to hear it for himself.

“Well, she’s safe for the moment, Major, but you can’t spend every waking moment together, despite what you may think. Sooner or later, she’ll be on her own, and even a girl that can take care of herself can only beat the odds so many times. And I think you’d agree that it would be a terrible shame if something happened to her, particularly since she’s only guilty by association.” She paused meaningfully. “Do we understand one another?”

Gambit worked his jaw. She had him there, easily, and she knew it. And she knew he knew it. He resigned himself to his fate. “Fine,” he told her. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” She sounded quite pleased. “I’m looking forward to it. That is your line, isn’t it? I’m sure Miss Bryde will confirm, since she’s listening.” Gambit spun around, and saw that Purdey was indeed on the bedroom line, eyes meeting his through the beaded curtains. The voice continued in his ear. “I imagine she’ll be one of your watchers. Be sure to keep an eye on him, Miss Bryde. I’ve a feeling you’re his best chance of making it back alive.”

Purdey was about to form a retort, but a click informed them both that the connection had been terminated. Purdey hung up her phone carefully, and Gambit did the same. She pushed her way through the curtain, stood before him, large blue eyes searching his face. “You’re going to that meeting.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“I don’t have a choice, Purdey,” Gambit murmured, brushing a stray strand of still-damp blonde hair out of her eyes. “If I don’t go, she’ll just push harder, go from you to my family. And I can’t let that happen. Best to give her what she wants now.” 

Purdey crossed her arms defiantly. “Well, if you insist on stepping into the line of fire, I’ll obviously have to be there to keep you out of trouble. Even she knows that.” She bit her lip. “She’s obviously gotten access to our files. And she knows me by name. That was meant to shake me, wasn’t it?”

Gambit nodded. “Did it work?”

“Not as much as her knowing I was listening. But it’s made me angry, too.” Purdey’s hackles were rising now, anger overcoming fear. “She’s not going to get away with it.”

Gambit pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Get away with what? You don’t even know what the meeting’s about.”

“I don’t care,” Purdey replied flatly, tightening the belt of her robe as though it were a karate gi. “But whatever it’s about, you’ll have back-up and like it, Mike Gambit.”

“I would like it, as it happens,” Gambit confessed. He had no energy left to even pretend to put up a fight about wanting to make the rendezvous solo. “I don’t relish going anywhere near her without someone watching. But the more people we have keeping an eye out, the better. I’ll call Steed while you change. Unless you want to get back in the bath.”

Purdey shook her head. “It’s gone cold,” she told him darkly, before turning to head back into the bedroom.

vvv

By the time Purdey had dressed, Steed was at the door, having received Gambit’s call and driven the short distance from the Ministry. The senior agent listened carefully, but quietly, as Purdey and Gambit explained the situation. 

“I can go in alone,” Gambit offered when they’d finished. “With just you and Purdey as back-up. This is my problem, not the Ministry’s.”

“On the contrary. It’s everyone’s problem,” Steed disagreed. “As you well know, Miss Thyme is a person of interest for the Ministry and most every department involved in espionage. No, if we’ve a chance to lure her out and potentially capture her, I think you should take it. Especially since, in doing so, you might be able to put an end to the investigation into your own past. Unless you’re particularly relishing your status as a shut-in.”

Gambit winced noticeably. “Point taken.”

Purdey grinned. “You’ll help keep watch, then? When Mike goes in?”

“Myself, and a few others,” Steed confirmed. “I think Larry ought to be there, since he’s the one intent on smearing Gambit’s good name. And a few other people to watch Gambit’s back, as well as our own, cover the exits…”

“She might get away,” Gambit murmured, “no matter how much security you bring in, and she’ll cut her way through if she has to. And I don’t want anyone dead on my account.”

“I think that who’s on security is my decision, isn’t it, if I’m running the operation?” Steed said conversationally, smile friendly but steely underneath. “And I will run it, even if Larry’s name is on the paperwork. No, I’ll make some calls, and we’ll meet tonight. There’s much to be done.” Steed glanced idly around Purdey’s flat. “And I think it ought to be done at the farm. If she’s watching you two, I’d just as soon not leave you alone. Purdey, pack some things, then I’ll escort you two to Gambit’s for the same. Then we’ll head out to the farm together. I’ve plenty of rooms—you can spend the night. I can make all the calls I need from your flats.”

Purdey looked to Gambit. “Thank you, Steed,” the latter said.

Steed smiled. “All in a day’s work.”

vvv 

Later, at the stud farm, while waiting for Larry to arrive, Purdey slipped upstairs. She found Gambit, who had taken his leave after eating a dinner so small it hardly qualified as a meal, in his room, gazing out the window at the sunset. She closed the door softly, crossed the room so she was standing behind him, and rested her chin on his shoulder so she, too, could enjoy the view, looking out over Steed’s grounds at the peacefully grazing horses, dark shapes thrown into sharp relief by the green grass in the field. Gambit turned his head ever-so-slightly her way, then returned his gaze to the sunset, slipping an arm around her waist as he did so. They stood that way for a moment, neither willing to break the silence, both aware of what the conversation would entail. Gambit probably could have stayed that way all evening, but Purdey was never able to stay quiet for long, particularly when there was so much at stake. She coaxed a deep breath into her body, felt the words flow out.

“It’s quite nice, isn’t it?”

Gambit started slightly, as though she had pulled him back from some faraway destination. He nodded in agreement.

“I thought I’d indulge. Haven’t watched a sunset since my navy days, and, well, you never know if you’ll get another chance.” His eyes flicked nervously to the grounds spread out before them, checking for enemies hidden in the shadows. “I don’t think Vanessa will try anything tonight, so standing at the window should be safe.” He seemed to reconsider that hypothesis. “Then again.” He pulled away and drew the curtains. Purdey watched him with a heavy heart.

“You shouldn’t talk like that. Makes it sound as though you’re not coming back.”

Gambit, still turned toward the window, bowed his head. “Purdey, we need to talk about that.” There was a catch in his voice, but he didn’t care, pushed on regardless. “Starting with the possibility that I might not be coming back.”

He’d known that that comment wasn’t going to go over well, and Purdey didn’t disappoint. He could almost hear the anger and hurt bubble up inside her slim frame before the words spilled out forcefully. “You don’t need to be so damned melodramatic, Mike! You know as well as I do that you’ll be back here at this time tomorrow, with me.”

Gambit turned to face her, and Purdey felt her heart break as he shook his head sadly. “You know that’s not true, Purdey. I’m not sure of anything where Thyme is concerned. All I have to go by is past experience, and you have to admit that the odds aren’t too promising.”

Purdey crossed her arms defiantly. “Well, I’m not prepared to give in before we’ve even started, Mike Gambit. I never took you for a pessimist.”

“I’m a realist, Purdey,” Gambit contradicted. “I know what happened last time. Even if we take precautions, there’s still a good chance she’ll pull the rug out from under me again, and if that’s the case...” He let the sentence hang, tried to soothe her instead. “Look, it’s not as though I’m happy about it. I don’t relish the idea of going through...what she did to me...again, but if she comes for you instead…well, I like the idea of you taking my place even less.”

Purdey stepped closer, so that her face was inches from his, anger etched into every feature. “I don’t need you to sacrifice yourself, Mike. I’m perfectly capable—“

“I don’t doubt you could give her something to think about,” Gambit interrupted. “But Purdey, try to understand. Remember, every time they capture you, I can’t help but wonder if this is the time I don’t make it there before they do something to you. And experience has made my imagination pretty damn vivid. I know I can make it through, if I have to. But my worst nightmare is coming too late to save you. The job’s risky, we both know that. But this is different. This is my past coming back to haunt us. And if something happens to you because of me...” He sighed. “I couldn’t handle that, Purdey. Don’t put me in that position. Please.” He brushed some hair from her eyes. “Please let me do what I have to do for both of us.”

Purdey looked at the sincerity of his features, felt fear rise up beneath the anger. She fixed him with those huge blue eyes, asked him the question she had asked herself every day since she had met him.

“Where does that leave me, then?” she wanted to know, voice quavering. “Where am I going to be while you put your life on the line on some damnfool suicide mission? On the sidelines, waiting for the body? Because I’ve already buried one man I loved, Mike Gambit, because of this job. And I don’t know that I can accept another. Not without a fight.”

Gambit looked suitably chastened. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I forgot about your father.”

“I never do,” Purdey replied with feeling, jabbing her index finger into his chest. “I saw my mother. I watched her that day, when those men told her the news. I remember running away and ending up in my dance studio all on my own, because that was the only safe place I could think of to go. I remember her face at the funeral. She looked like a statue, all cold and stony. And I remember promising myself that would never happen to me, and when I joined the Ministry I was so sure it wouldn’t, because I was the operative, not the bystander. I could keep myself alive. I wouldn’t feel helpless again, especially not after Larry.” She smiled bitterly. “But I didn’t make any plans for dashing fellow agents. And there you were, and I knew, I knew nothing I said or did was going to keep you from getting just that much closer. I tried fending you off, but that didn’t make things any easier.” She gestured at him helplessly. “But now here we are, and things seem worse for it. I’m back in the observer role, on the sidelines, watching you walk into the lion’s den.” She smiled sadly. “What do I do?”

Gambit drew her into his arms, whispered into her hair, “What you do best. Try to keep me out of trouble.”

“I don’t know that I can. Not this time,” she said quietly. “You have to go into this meeting on your own. And I can’t help you if I’m not with you.”

“You will,” Gambit said, with confidence. “Even if we’re outmatched and can’t control the outcome, you’ll do something more than sit on the sidelines. Whatever happens to me in there, I know you’ll be looking out for me. And if she does try something, you’ll find a way to strike back. You always do.” He looked down at her, smiled slightly. “I almost feel sorry for her, going toe to toe with you.” She grinned at that, and Gambit felt a little better. “I don’t want to fight with you, Purdey. Not tonight. I wish…” he began, then seemed to reconsider.

“What?” Purdey wanted to know, every thought that entered his mind so precious to her given that they potentially had so little time left together. No, don’t think like that. He’ll come back. He has to.

“I wish I could promise you that I’ll come through this all right,” he finished. “I wish I could give you something solid to hang onto.”

Purdey shook her head, setting her jaw determinedly. “You already have. Me,” she said confidently, but Gambit’s sad smile, coupled with the look in his eyes, chased away her shakily-constructed bravado. “Mike Gambit, you’re the ‘never-say-die’ type. What happened to the man who used to walk into loaded guns and jump onto the wings of airplanes without a second thought?”

“His past caught up with him,” Gambit said ruefully. “And he fell in love.”

Purdey felt tears threatening, but that would only make Gambit’s grim face grimmer. “It’s the past that’s the real problem,” she murmured. “Not you. And you can’t hold that against yourself.”

“I can and I will,” Gambit muttered stubbornly, but then his eyes softened and met her large blue ones once more. “But I can promise you one thing,” he went on, and there was hope in his voice for the first time in what felt like millennia. “I promise that if it all goes pear-shaped, I’ll do everything in my power to find my way back to you. Maybe not right away, but I’ll damn well try.” 

Purdey didn’t know why, but for some reason the promise made the tears flow unbidden, which, in turn, made Gambit’s face fall more than it already had. “Oh, Purdey, Purdey,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Purdey-girl, don’t cry. That’s the last thing I wanted to make you do.” 

“You’re not making me do anything,” Purdey said, with a fierceness that surprised him. “I am a woman, Mike. I think you and Steed forget that sometimes.”

Gambit shook his head, tilting her chin upward so that he could look in her eyes. “I promise that’s one thing that I never, ever forget. Your figure makes it hard to think otherwise.”

She smiled sadly at the joke. “I mean, to do this job I have to be tough, have to prove I can handle anything this job throws at me as well as any man.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Gambit said with conviction. “You’re a damn good agent, and anyone who hasn’t taken too many blows to the head knows it.”

“That may be true,” Purdey allowed, “but when I’m an agent, it’s like I’m a different person. But Mike, when I’m with you...” She tried to hold back tears, but they came anyway. “When we’re here, like this, I don’t want to be her. I don’t want to wear the armour, not anymore, not after all those years trying to get past Larry. Because everyone, sometimes, wants to be vulnerable, and I know that with you, I can.” She smiled sadly. “Do you see? When we step out of that door, you’re going to be my colleague, and I’m going to call you ‘Gambit’ and try to think of you as my partner, because that’s what you’ll need—someone with a clear head to watch out for you. But now, now I can be Purdey-girl, and she’s afraid, and if she wants to indulge and cry and make a fool of herself, then that’s what she’s going to do. Because I love you, Mike Gambit, and it’s not fair to ask me to feel otherwise.”

“I’m sorry,” Gambit said quietly. “But I hate seeing you hurt, and when it’s my fault—“

“It’s not,” Purdey countered. “Stop saying that. It’s no more your fault than Larry coming back was mine.”

“I made a choice.”

“So did I. Several terrible ones. I should have reported Larry when he made the assassination attempt, should have had him charged, but I didn’t. I shouldn’t have shot out Steed’s tyres, or stopped you from keeping the missile from going off, but I did. But it’s done now, and I can’t change it, any more than you can change what you did. There’s no sense in tormenting yourself.”

“I’m still sorry for putting you through all this,” Gambit sighed.

Purdey turned her tear-stained face up to his. “I’d rather hurt now than be in the same situation knowing I could very well lose you without ever letting myself tell you how I felt. No one can take the time we’ve had together from us, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything. Mike, it’s because of you that I’m willing to let myself be vulnerable again. A little part of me died when Larry slapped me, and a lot of who I was disappeared—the fairy princess, he used to call it. I think—no, I know—that I’m that you brought me back. Back to life.”

Gambit felt his chest tighten at her words. It wasn’t fair. The first time he had felt certain about where his life was going. The first time he’d had someone to come home to, who cared. The first time he had found someone he loved. And now, not long after she had decided to return that love, it was at risk of being taken away, and if worst came to worst he was almost certainly going to have to leave her behind. He felt anger bubble up inside, at himself, at his past, at Vanessa. When was the world going to leave him alone in his happiness? 

Nothing you can do about it now, the logical part of his brain pointed out. All you can do is try to make it back to Purdey.

So he smiled. “Thank you.”

Purdey blinked. “For what?”

“For letting me in. For everything.”

She was choking back fresh sobs. “You do know I love you, don’t you, Mike Gambit?”

“Never doubted it,” he reassured, smiling bravely, even though he didn’t feel it. “I love you, too.”

The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house. Purdey wiped away the tears and set about making herself presentable. “We should go downstairs, shouldn’t we?”

He nodded. “We should.”


	15. Two Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Steed returned to the living room from ushering Larry out the front door bearing a small crease between his eyes that betrayed his ill-humour at the other man’s demands. It was bad enough that Larry had insisted on surveillance detail being posted outside the house. Steed could swallow the Ministry’s heavy-handedness if the circumstances necessitated it. What he didn’t care for were Larry’s attempts to dress the watchers up as being a necessary security precaution, protection for Gambit from Thyme and, by default, protection for Purdey and Steed as well. But Steed knew an insurance policy when he saw one, and he wasn’t sure what he was most offended by: the idea that Gambit would scarper rather than face Vanessa Thyme, or the possibility that Steed would let him do it. If Larry wanted to question either man’s professionalism, Steed would have rather Larry do it to his face. But Larry had always had a chip on his shoulder where Steed and Gambit were concerned, had always had something to prove, and seemed to think now was the opportunity to make up for the way the whole Juventor affair had gone south when Larry had been left to his own devices to run that particular assignment--and botched it, badly. This time, Larry was going to show them up and throw his weight around as much as possible. This was his chance to save face, and he was going to seize it with both hands. If it allowed him to posture in front of Purdey, all the better. Steed had never been quite able to work out how Larry had determined that attempting to make fools out of Purdey’s two closest colleagues—and Purdey herself, by proxy—was meant to endear him to her. He couldn’t even put it down as a side-effect to the brain-draining machine, as he’d been just as obnoxious beforehand. Steed shook his head in mild disbelief. Well, Larry certainly wasn’t going to get in Purdey’s good books by trying to persecute Gambit this time around. Her face had been like thunder all through the strategy meeting that had monopolised the rest of the afternoon and much of evening, and she’d swept upstairs before all the players had even left their seats the moment the meeting had concluded. She was clearly under no illusions that Larry’s desire to catch Vanessa Thyme had as much to do with Larry getting the chance to put the screws to Gambit as it did with capturing a dangerous criminal.

Gambit himself was still bent over Steed’s dining room table when Steed re-entered, studying the photos and plans of the club where Vanessa had arranged the meet with the same morose expression he’d worn throughout the briefing. He glanced up as Steed strode past, making for the decanter on the sideboard. “Did you finally get Larry over the threshold?” he inquired wearily.

“Practically shoved him would be more accurate,” Steed replied, in a tone that revealed Larry’s behaviour still rankled. He poured two brandies and carried them back to where Gambit stood. “Although he’s still with us in spirit.”

“Eh?” Gambit looked heavenward, as though expecting to see a spectral Larry floating ominously over his head.

Steed pointed over his shoulder in the general direction of the front door, taking care not to spill the brandy. “Guard dogs. Two. Parked out front.”

“Oh,” Gambit said faintly, before pressing his lips into a thin line as understanding dawned. “In case I get cold feet.”

“I know. Ridiculous. But I have something to warm those extremities up.” Steed handed over the balloon glass.

“My feet are already roasting thanks,” Gambit said wryly, raising his glass to Steed. “Along with the rest of me. I feel like I’ve charbroiled. Sooner we get this over with the better. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” They both drank, then turned their attention back to the plans.

“Do you think this is going to work?” Gambit sighed, tapping the fingers of his left hand on the wooden surface of Steed’s dining room table.

“Miss Thyme did say that all the she wanted to do was talk,” Steed pointed out. “And we’ll be outside waiting in case there’s any trouble. “

Gambit’s lips pursed until they were almost white. “Yeah, but I have a good idea of what she’s going to want to talk about, and when I’m not in the mood to give her what she wants, it’ll go south fast.”

“We’ll be there if it does,” Steed reassured. “The point is to take her into custody, remember. If we catch her, she can’t ask for anything from you ever again.”

Gambit shook his head. “She’ll spot our people a mile away, and gone before anyone knows what’s happening,” he said bitterly, then treated Steed to a wry smile. “I know that doesn’t sound like much of a vote of confidence in Larry and company, but I know her. She’s going to be expecting me to come with reinforcements.”

“She will,” Steed agreed, “but we’ll have to play it as it unfolds. What else can we do?”

“What else…?” Gambit took another sip of brandy and smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, Steed. I know you’re doing your best to look after me, keep Larry happy, and McKay in the loop. You have enough to wrangle with on a normal day without adding me and all my problems to the mix, and I appreciate it, I really do. I couldn’t ask for better people than you and Purdey as back-up. And I don’t just mean at the club tomorrow.”

Steed patted Gambit’s shoulder reassuringly. “My pleasure, on all counts. We all know how unpredictable these situations are. But we’ll find a way through, I’m sure.” 

“Thanks, Steed.” Gambit did look genuinely reassured by the older man’s words. “Good thing Purdey wasn’t around to hear that pep talk. She’s already unhappy that I’m agreeing to meet Vanessa in the first place. My pessimism isn’t doing her mood much good.” He sighed and watched the brandy swirl around his glass. “Then again, she’s always talking about my negative thinking, so she knew what she was getting into.” He smiled wryly, making an effort to improve his mood, as if Purdey herself had interceded via some sort of psychic link and told him to perk up. “How long have you known?” he asked conversationally, but from beneath hooded eyes that were feigning nonchalance. “About Purdey and me?”

Steed’s eyes widened slightly in dismay. “A gentleman would never presume to entertain the idea that something might be happening, let alone to claim to know that it was.”

“But you’re no gentleman,” Gambit said knowingly, regarding Steed with a friendly eye that didn’t conceal his lack of illusion on certain matters where Steed was concerned. 

“Ha ha!” Steed laughed his staccato laugh almost directly into the brandy balloon. “All right, so I don’t claim that all my thoughts are unimpeachable. But ‘know’ is a strong word, and contains another presumption entirely.”

“Suspected, then,” Gambit allowed. “You’re not a fool, either. I’ve been wondering from the start whether we were going to be able pull the wool over your eyes, and I thought we were lucky to manage it this long. Now I’m wondering whether we were lucky at all.” He tilted his head inquisitively, and his eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were trying to see straight into Steed’s brain and divine his thought processes. “Did you know all along?”

“As I said, ‘know’ is a strong word,” Steed repeated, sipping his brandy. “But I will admit to having an inkling that something was going on.”

Gambit’s face broke into a huge grin, luxuriating in the small triumph of sussing out Steed. “I knew it,” he said, unquestionably pleased. “When did the penny drop?”

“When you resumed your aborted run on the training course, shortly after we resolved that nasty business where you were presumed dead,” Steed informed. “I dropped by to observe how you were making out, and was told you and Purdey were collaborating more beautifully than you ever had.”

A wicked smile stole across Gambit’s lips. “That’s one way of putting it. So that’s what tipped you off?” 

“Amongst other things,” Steed confirmed. “I knew that things had been rather fragile between you ever since that unfortunate business with Doomer.” The name alone was enough to wipe every bit of smugness and delight from Gambit’s face, and Steed could tell that that particular wound, despite the positive developments that had followed it, was still raw. “I was beginning to have serious concerns about whether your partnership would ever return to as it had been. On occasion I worried that it might dissolve entirely, which saddened me greatly.”

Gambit looked slightly taken aback by his boss’ expression. “You never said anything to either of us,” he murmured.

Steed shook his head. “There are some situations where even I know better than to try to put a word in. It was something you had to work out between you of your own accord, or not at all. You both had your hands forced, and my trying to force them further was only going to make me part of the problem. So I watched and waited, but I could see the cracks forming at the edges. And then, the moment you started working together not only as you had done, but more in simpatico that ever, I knew that something had changed for the better. I didn’t necessarily know it was a romance, but I knew something was happening between you that ought to be allowed to play out of its own accord. So I let it be.”

“It was the right call. As usual.” Gambit shook his head in admiring disbelief. “I can’t believe it. Even when you don’t interfere, it’s still the right call.” 

“Speaking of Purdey,” Steed said carefully, studying the plans on the table with sudden interest. “And making decisions, what are your intentions?”

Gambit tilted his head quizzically. “Purdey’s father’s dead, but if and when I have that conversation, I think it’ll be with her uncle or step-father. But I’m sure she’ll appreciate your efforts at paternal role-playing.”

“I don’t mean those sorts of intentions,” Steed said with a laugh. “I’ve no fears for Purdey where you’re concerned. You’ve been utterly devoted to her from the moment you clapped eyes on her.”

“Probably before,” Gambit said with a wistful sigh.

“And I’m very happy for both of you,” Steed assured. “What I am curious about is whether I should start looking for new partners.”

Gambit choked on his brandy and regarded Steed in mild disbelief. “You think that we’re leaving?”

“I think that things can change. People change,” Steed said mildly. “For the better in this case, but I would appreciate some notice if they do.”

Gambit shook his head. “Purdey and I aren’t planning on going anywhere. It took us this long to get where we are now. We haven’t even told anyone about us yet, not even our families, let alone talked about serious life plans.”

“All in good time,” Steed predicted confidently.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” Gambit observed in mild amusement.

Steed rose a questioning eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m just happy to have what I have,” Gambit said frankly. “I’m not going to get greedy and start pushing my luck by asking for too much too fast.”

“But you do want more.” Steed eyed Gambit knowingly over the rim of his glass and took another sip.

Gambit, much to Steed’s disbelieving bemusement, actually blushed a little. “Yes. Eventually,” he admitted. “If I’m very, very lucky, and Purdey’s onboard. But I’m not going to push it, or her. Not without good reason.”

“Which means there’s a chance,” Steed said, circling back to his original point. “Things could change.”

“Maybe,” Gambit allowed, cheeks still a little red. “Eventually.”

“Eventually,” Steed echoed, smiling more to himself than Gambit. “I’ll bear that in mind. But you should know that if things do change, I don’t want either you or Purdey to be held back from living your lives. Not by the Ministry, and definitely not by me.” He gazed out the window, into the fields where the horses were still grazing in the early evening light. “This job is very rewarding and very important, but I’m not entirely certain that it’s worth sacrificing your happiness for. At least, not when the path of contentment is placed at your feet.” Gambit watched Steed’s eyes go unfocussed, and he knew that the senior agent was looking at a crossroads moment in his own past, when he’d let a similar opportunity for personal happiness slip through his fingers. Gambit didn’t think he was flattering himself that he knew what—or rather, who—was the object of Steed’s retroactive gaze, and wondered if he ought to ask. But that was crossing a line Gambit knew would only earn him a witty retort and a dressed-up warning to mind his own business. And it wasn’t his business. But Gambit hoped at least some of that happiness was still salvageable for his friend’s sake.

“Thanks, Steed,” Gambit said instead, sincerely. “I won’t forget that. And I’m sure Purdey will appreciate it, too. Speaking of whom—“ Gambit finished his brandy. “I’d better go and see what she’s up to, and then call it an early night. I’m going to need all the rest I can get to make it through tomorrow.”

Steed nodded in agreement. “Good idea. I’ll stay up a little while and review a few things before I turn in. Say good-night to Purdey for me.”

“Will do,” Gambit promised. “Good-night, Steed. And thanks. Whatever happens.”

“My pleasure,” Steed said, with a smile, watching Gambit retreat up the stairs. Then he turned back to the plans and tried to banish the image of sweeping auburn hair from his mind.

vvv

Purdey was going through her suitcase when she heard the knock. “Come in,” she said automatically, not bothering to look up to see who was entering. Gambit’s rocking gait had given him away partway down the corridor. “Are they gone?” she inquired.

Gambit eased the door shut behind him before he answered. “Yes. Even Larry. Though he spent a few minutes arguing with Steed about whether I ought to be locked up until morning so I don’t scarper after you left.”

That last comment finally made Purdey whirl around. “That’s ridiculous! He’s using this whole mess as a way to push his own personal agenda.” She flung herself around the room angrily, tossing clothes into the dresser as she went, while Gambit watched impassively, hands behind his back. Purdey shot him an incredulous look. “I hope you argued, too, and didn’t leave it all to Steed?”

Gambit grinned wickedly. “What do you think I’ve been doing since you came up here? Well, that and having a chat with Steed. But since I’m the one everyone’s looking sideways at, I don’t think anything I say to anyone but him counts for much. The sight of me’s enough to rile Larry most days.” Purdey could tell from the expression on Gambit’s face that he’d taken some perverse pleasure in riling Larry, even if it ultimately worked against him. “Anyway, Steed’s sorted it out for the time being. They’ve left some guard dogs out front to keep an eye on anyone going in or out. If Larry was going to drag me off in chains, he would have done it by now.”

Purdey shook her head, both at Larry’s behaviour and Gambit’s perverseness about the whole affair. “You should be taking this seriously.”

Gambit’s grin disappeared instantly, mouth forming a thin line, and Purdey suddenly realised that she’d gotten it very wrong, that the jauntiness was a way of coping with the situation, of keeping them both sane. “If I took it anymore seriously, I’d be cowering in the cellar,” he said darkly, moving to the bedroom window, peering suspiciously out at the darkening grounds. “I keep expecting to see her somewhere, just watching and waiting.” His jaw was working madly now, the mask well and truly off. He turned away from the window and regarded Purdey with a face like granite, pale and grim. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Purdey crossed her arms as though trying to hug some warmth into her body. “Do you think it’ll go as planned? Now that you know how much back-up we have?”

Gambit snorted. “A meeting with Vanessa? On her choice of ground? I’d think something was wrong if it didn’t go sideways.” He smiled wanly. “We’ll just have to go in with our wits about us and try to keep her in line.”

“That’s not very encouraging,” Purdey pointed out, with vague annoyance.

“No, it isn’t,” Gambit agreed, voice distant. Then he seemed to snap back to reality, and the smile reappeared. “Not much we can do about it until we’re there. Let’s talk about something else.”

Purdey raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Gambit’s smile turned wicked. “What about why Steed gave us separate rooms?”

Purdey smiled in spite of herself, grateful to see Gambit find the lighter side of anything at that point. “I imagine he didn’t want to presume.”

“Trying to protect your womanly virtue?” Gambit quipped, with a waggle of the eyebrows. “Funny. I’ve never thought of Steed as a prude.”

“A realist. He knows you too well,” Purdey replied, tongue-in-cheek.

“Me? Maybe he was trying to protect me from you. We all know how insatiable you are. And I don’t just mean for marshmallows.”

“Mike!” Purdey exclaimed, but her eyes were sparkling.

“Well, you had to work up that appetite somehow—ouch!” Gambit sprang back as Purdey jabbed him in the ribs. “And people wonder why I’m battered up all the time. You’ve been wearing my body out no end.”

“I don’t think you’re up to clandestine meetings. You’re clearly not thinking straight,” Purdey tutted, stroking the spot she’d just jabbed.

“No, just thinking about you, love. As always.” Gambit winked saucily at her, his essential cockney both endearing and an endearment.

Purdey blushed in spite of herself. “Well, I can’t say I blame you, even if you ought to be thinking of other things.” She paused, then added, “So should I.”

Gambit perked up visibly. “Got a bloke on your mind, do you?”

“Yes, infuriatingly,” Purdey said, then added, “He happens to be worth the bother, though.”

Gambit smiled at the compliment—a warm, gentle smile. “Now I know why Steed put us in separate rooms.”

Purdey looked quizzical. “Oh? Why?”

“For appearances’ sake. If we’re carrying on like this and looking at each other like that, then Larry and everyone else will know what’s going on between us in a second.”

“Neon lights ten feet tall,” Purdey agreed knowingly. “I’m surprised we kept it from Steed as long as we did.”

Gambit made a moue and shook his head. “I asked him about that. He’s known something’s up for awhile, in that devious mind of his. He was just too much of a gentleman to ask until it mattered. And now it matters.” He regarded her carefully. “Are we going to stick to separate rooms tonight? Because I don’t think Steed’ll mind if we only dirty half as many sheets.”

Purdey flushed and smiled. “It might be for the best if we didn’t.”

“Propriety?”

“Distraction. We need our sleep,” Purdey said primly, pulling the curtains shut with the efficiency of a nurse on a hospital ward as a way of avoiding Gambit’s gaze, and its affect on her resolve. “And we’re not going to get it if we’re lying there looking at each other and worrying about tomorrow.”

Gambit cocked his head. “Do you think it’ll make a difference?”

Purdey swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” she admitted with a shrug. “But it might help for us to be a little more objective tomorrow, with everything else going on, and this is the only way I can think of to do it.”

Gambit nodded once, curtly. “Right,” he said crisply, straightening up, obviously trying to be professional. “I’ll just, uh, say goodnight then.”

Purdey nodded with renewed purpose. “Right. Goodnight, Mike. Sleep well, if you can.”

“Goodnight, Purdey-girl.” He leaned in and kissed her, and she kissed back, holding back tears she refused to shed. With one last look, Gambit left the room.

Two hours later, Gambit was lying in bed when he heard the door open, and the sound of footsteps padding their way to his side. The sheets were pulled back, and he felt Purdey’s body slide in beside him, mould to his own reclined form. Gambit grinned in the dark. “What happened to objectivity?”

“Oh, be quiet and hold me,” came the response.

Gambit turned over and did as he was told. Happily.


	16. Past and Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

The next morning, Purdey stirred and turned over, reaching blearily for Gambit. He wasn’t there. She frowned and opened her eyes, surveyed the room, only to find it empty. She felt a twinge of annoyance as she threw back the blankets. Gambit had wandered off, without so much as a quick word to tell her where he was going. Given the current threats to his well-being coming from both Larry and Vanessa Thyme, the professional agent in her balked at the irresponsibility of not alerting his partner to his whereabouts. As his partner of a more romantic nature, one who had serious fears about losing him for good during what she perceived as an ill-advised rendezvous, she didn’t appreciate being deprived of his company any sooner than she had to be. Purdey sat up and brooded for a moment, tried not to let anger be her driving emotion first thing in the morning. Gambit was going to need all the support he could get in the course of the day, and her tearing a strip off him wasn’t going to help. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to spend what might be their last few hours together doing, either. Anyway, she wasn’t angry, not really. Just afraid for Gambit, and what might happen to him. She took a deep, cleansing breath, and forced herself to calm down, using logic as a touchstone. The house was guarded by Larry’s watchers. Steed was also around somewhere. Gambit couldn’t have gone far without someone noticing. And even if he could, theoretically, slip the net, she knew he would never leave her behind without a word, wouldn’t abandon her and leave her wondering what had happened to him. He was somewhere nearby. She just had to find him. 

Remembering that she’d left her own bed--and therefore all her clothes--in the next room, she slipped out of Gambit’s bed and padded down the hall to her own quarters as quickly as she could, then set about finding something to wear. She came up with a sweater, a pair of trousers, and boots, mindful of the autumn chill that was hanging in the air most days at this time of year. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told her she’d slept in and that it was half-past eight. She eased the door open quietly and tiptoed down the hall, hoping she hadn’t woken Steed if he hadn’t risen yet.

She knew she needn’t have bothered with stealth the moment she opened the door leading to the main floor and started down the stairs. Steed was at the dining room table, reading _The Times_ over coffee. He gifted Purdey with a friendly smile in greeting. “Good morning, Purdey. Looking for Gambit?” he asked knowingly.

Purdey nodded in mild relief. Steed wouldn’t be smiling if Gambit had gone AWOL. “Along with everyone else, it seems. Where’s he gotten to this time?”

Steed nodded toward the patio doors. “Just out in the grounds. The bench out back.”

“I’m glad he told _someone_ ,” Purdey commented, unable to keep the acrid note of annoyance out of her voice, helping herself to a slice of toast from the toast rack in the middle of the table.

“He said he didn’t want to wake you,” Steed replied in Gambit’s defense. “I’ve a feeling he wanted some time to think.”

“He’s been thinking on this too much,” Purdey said around a mouthful of crispy bread covered with marmalade. “I think he’s convinced he’s not going to make it out of this meeting.”

“Considering his past experience with this woman, that’s an entirely understandable sentiment,” Steed pointed out.

“But he seems so sure of it,” Purdey said quietly, eyes downcast. “I get the distinct impression he’s trying to say good-bye. And I don’t want to. I won’t.” She looked back at Steed, seeking reassurance. “Should I?”

“I sincerely hope not,” Steed said seriously. “We’re going to do everything in our power to make sure he comes back. But Gambit’s very resilient, even if something should go wrong.”

Purdey’s eyes flashed defiantly. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“That makes two of us.” There was a moment of silence as the two agents regarded one another, deadly serious. Then Steed broke the tension with another bright smile. “Tell him breakfast is ready, won’t you?”

“I will.” With that, Purdey slipped out the French doors and onto the grounds.

vvv

She found Gambit on the bench, just as Steed had said, one long arm stretched over the back of the structure, the other gripping the ankle he’d crossed over his knee. He was looking up at the sky, clearly miles away, a distant expression arranged over his handsome features. She took a seat next to him and followed his eyeline, watched the birds, chirping their early morning song, flutter from tree to tree. It was a beautiful morning, cool and brisk, fresh with promise. Serene. Nothing like the anxiety and edginess eating them up inside. But Gambit, at least, appeared outwardly relaxed. He hadn’t acknowledged her when she sat down, hadn’t looked her way, and she knew that his composure had a lot to do with him not facing her--and all he had to lose. But Purdey was Purdey, and she could never stay quiet when something needed to be said. So, without looking his way, she said the words she knew he was expecting.

“You were gone this morning.”

She felt him sigh, and that did make her look at him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, voice rough from lack of use. “I knew I should have stuck around, but you looked so peaceful and I didn’t want to wake you. And I would’ve, if I’d stayed in bed. Too restless.”

Purdey shook her head in disbelief. “That’s not even a very good lie, Mike. You know perfectly well I’ll sleep through you moving about. You’re just trying to get me used to the idea, aren’t you? Of waking up alone? Because you’re under the mistaken impression that it will make things easier.” She ran a hand through her hair, stirred by the morning breeze. “But all it does is make me mad, because you’re trying to protect me again. And regardless of what you might think, I don’t think it’s helping you, either.”

Gambit took a deep breath. “It helps me if you’re so used to doing without me that she can’t hurt you through me. It’s not your fight, after all.”

“It is my fight!” Purdey exclaimed, loud enough that some of the birds were startled from the trees and took flight in a panicked cloud as Purdey’s words echoed across Steed’s grounds. “That’s the point of having a partner. When I threw my lot in with you, professionally and personally, all your problems became mine, too. And don’t say that’s not true, because you’ve been shouldering my burdens for years. When will you stop being so damned stubborn and let me do the same?”

Gambit swallowed hard. He knew she was right, but pushing her away was all he could think to do to protect her from what might happen to him, the only way to cushion the blow, if it came. _And I’m damn sure it will._ He sighed again, heavier this time, acknowledging to himself that there was no way to make the idea of him not coming back easier for either of them, or to make Purdey care less about his well-being. And that made him want to soak up as much of her as possible, to treasure what little time they had left. He could feel Purdey shift beside him, knew he couldn’t avoid looking into those eyes much longer, but terrified that he’d break down completely if he did.

Purdey seemed to sense this, anger draining out of her as she laid a hand on his shoulder, kneaded the knotted muscles beneath his shirt. The hollow of his throat, visible through the unbuttoned collar, looked vulnerable, exposed. The way she felt inside. The way she had felt when she had awoken to find him gone. But he was still here, now, and that meant she could still support him, reassure him that it was possible for him to return to her unscathed.

“Mike,” she said with a softness that made him tremble. “Look at me.”

Gambit’s face wasn’t serene anymore. Now it was strained, trying to rein in the fear and sadness that threatened to overtake it. His lower lip trembled a little as he took a shaky breath. Purdey felt her heart breaking all over again. He was clearly afraid, and Gambit didn’t betray fear easily. The only way she knew how to give him courage was to have him look her in the eye and reestablish the connection that they had both felt an eternity ago when she had walked through a door and first locked those blue-green eyes with her own. She thought that it would help him to do the same now, too. _If only he’d look my way._

“Mike, please.”

He must have heard the pleading note in her voice, because he did as she asked and turned slowly to look her in the eye. “Believe me, I want to let you let help,” he confessed, with more composure than either of them had suspected he was capable of. “Hell, I don’t even want to go to this damned rendezvous.”

Purdey, relieved that he was making eye contact and that she was seemingly getting through to him, put a hand to his cheek, smiled encouragingly. “That’s understandable. Who in their right mind would?”

”But I feel selfish for it,” Gambit went on, mouth twisting in annoyance. “I know I have to do this. It’s my responsibility, and if I don’t take it on, then someone will pay for it—you, Steed, my family, the department. There’ll be trouble. I know there will. So it has to be me that does it. But I don’t _want_ to.” He shook his head, pulled Purdey’s hand from his face and contemplated it as he held it in his own. “I actually wish that you, or Steed, or someone could shoulder more of this burden than you can. And that bothers me. It’s not as though I’ve ever really wanted to go through something like this, but this time it feels…different. Somehow.” He looked hard at her hand in his, as though seeking inspiration. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I do,” Purdey said serenely, and Gambit looked up in surprise. “Mike, it’s simple. You’ve put your life on the line more times than I can count. But this time you have something—someone--to come back to. It’s understandable that you don’t want to sacrifice that. It doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human.”

Gambit’s mouth quirked up slightly on one side. “Got all that from ‘I don’t want to’? Did you take psychology at Sorbonne?”

Purdey shook her head. “Drama. But if I couldn’t read people, I’d make a terrible agent, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes. But I can’t imagine you being a terrible agent in any universe.” Gambit smiled a little crookedly. “Drama, eh? I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Purdey said wistfully. “There’s a lot both of us still don’t know about each other, people in our lives we’ve never met. My mother, for one. I was hoping to introduce you in the next few months.”

Gambit looked surprised. “You were?”

Purdey nodded matter-of-factly. “And to Uncle Elly. Although he’ll probably give you a hard time just for appearances sake, so you might want to work your way up to him by meeting the more obliging relations first.” 

“I’ve met your Uncle,” Gambit pointed out. “After that business with Colonel Miller. And your step-father. We seemed to get on all right.” 

Purdey shrugged carelessly. “I’m sure you were very charming. But it’s rather a different kettle of fish when you’re face to face with Colonel Elroyd Foster and he knows you’ve been sleeping with his niece.” She grinned wickedly. “He’s very protective of me, you know.”

Gambit paled slightly. “Thanks for the warning. I thought this was meant to be a pep talk.”

“It is,” Purdey assured, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “Because facing off with Vanessa Thyme is a breeze compared to wrangling Uncle Elly. If you think you can charm him, you have nothing to worry about today.”

Gambit slanted a skeptical eyebrow. “I wish that was true.”

“It is,” Purdey asserted, quite frankly. “And it’s also true that I’ll meet your family, too, someday.”

“At my funeral,” Gambit muttered somberly. 

“No, you’ll be there, and very much alive,” Purdey said with certainty. “I’m not giving up on you yet.”

“Glad at least one of us has faith in me,” Gambit replied, eyes drifting back up to the trees. 

Purdey scowled and turned her gaze to the vast lawn that stretched out before them, a small portion of the countless acres that made up Steed’s grounds. “Back to this again. You’re still trying to prepare me for the possibility that you might not be coming back,” she accused sourly.

Gambit’s emotional reserves were too low to muster up anything but weariness in the face of her outrage. “And you’re trying to get me to make promises that I don’t know if I can keep.”

“I’m not that unreasonable!” Purdey defended, whirling around, eyes flashing, but met with Gambit’s heavy-lidded, skeptical gaze. “Well, not always. Anyway, I’m not asking you to promise to come back. I’m asking you to try, that’s all, instead of acting so fatalistic, as though it’s a foregone conclusion.”

Gambit tilted his head to one side, scepetical expression augmented by a pair of incredulous creases between the eyebrows. “Purdey, after everything we’ve been through, you must know by now that I’ll always do everything in my power to come back to you.”

“Yes,” Purdey conceded, voice soft now, anger ebbing away to reveal the fear that it was attempting to mask. His hands were laced and hanging loosely between his legs, and Purdey slipped her own hand into the space between them, fingers weaving their way into his. “But I also know that you’ll do anything in your power to protect me, and I don’t want you to succumb to your penchant for self-sarcrificing idiocy.” She leaned in close, pressed her nose to his temple, eyes sliding closed. “I know you can’t predict what will happen, Mike. I’m only asking that you remember to fight for the future, not concentrate on trying to atone for the past.”

“I think about the future all the time,” Gambit protested mildly, folding Purdey’s hand in his and studying it thoughtfully. “Mostly about a future with you.”

“I’m flattered, if not very surprised. You’re nothing if not predictable,” Purdey teased, allowing herself a small smile as she nuzzled his temple, breathing deep of the scent of Gambit’s hair and skin. “And what do you have in mind for me, Mike Gambit? Marriage, kids, a cottage in Wales?”

“I thought you didn’t want kids,” Gambit said, a small, puzzled, slightly melancholy frown marring his features.

Purdey looked at him with a frown every bit as bemused. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You did,” Gambit informed softly, knowing he was digging up painful memories for her on more than one front. But if they were going to talk about this, he couldn’t very well ignore what she’d said the last time they’d had this conversation, and it wasn’t fair for her to pretend it had never happened. “When we were pretending to be that married couple, just before I supposedly died.”

Purdey looked pained--at the mention of Gambit’s supposed demise, the topic of children, and their previous conversation. “I didn’t say I didn’t want kids,” she corrected, with a tinge of recrimination in her voice. “I said I wasn’t sure what I wanted.”

“Right,” Gambit confirmed, shifting uncomfortably. “Because of what happened with—with your engagement.” He purposefully omitted mentioning Larry Doomer by name, something they both tried to avoid if they could help it. His name dredged up nothing but pain on both sides, and Purdey had acknowledged that the spectre of him had been the main barrier to her taking Gambit up on his offers of romance earlier than she had. He was dead and gone now, and the world was a better place for it, so Purdey and Gambit had made a concerted effort to not let him impinge on their lives, on their happiness, their future. But even buried, Doomer had still left certain legacies that continued to be felt moving forward. Some were actually good. The one thing both Purdey and Gambit had to thank Larry for was the unintentional push he had given Purdey to take a new path in life, to reevaluate what she wanted and how she could feel fulfilled. That path had taken her to the Ministry and then, eventually, to Gambit, and their meeting was something both of them would be forever grateful for. But some of Doomer’s legacies were less-than-positive, and the black mark he’d left on Purdey’s once-pristine dream of a happy family life was one of them. She hadn’t been able to revisit the concept of domestic bliss without that blight clouding her judgment, and thefore couldn’t clearly work out how she felt about it. She’d told Gambit as much that grey, awful day in the car.

“Yes,” Purdey confirmed softly, ducking her head for a moment as the emotions washed over her, and she willed herself to remain unaffected. The content of that particular conversation had been bad enough, but the context had only made it worse. Their partnership had been particularly strained at that point, and was on its way to perhaps becoming irredeemingly so, weighed down by Doomer’s death at Gambit’s hand a few months earlier, followed by a period of tentativeness as they tried to work out how they could carry on from there, both professionally and personally. They’d retreated into their work roles to a certain extent, and that had kept them safe for a little while. Then, miraculously, in Canada, they’d reemerged, and found themselves able to pick up where they left off. But that had only added the weight of their long-running flirtation, their nascent hints at romance, their shared secrets and meaningful moments, to the momentous emotional reckoning that Doomer had spurred. And that had found Purdey reconsidering just why she was holding Gambit at arm’s length, and led her to make intimations in a romantic direction, including one, very potent conversation that had seen her more or less push Gambit to admit that he loved her, and then almost take him to bed as a consequence. But then, as ever, she’d reverted to her old, cowardly ways and pushed him away, after pulling him closer than she ever had. She’d bruised—maybe broken—Gambit’s heart badly, and, coupled with the pressure of opening up to a man posing as a marriage counsellor as part of their cover as a married couple on assignment, Gambit had been unable to keep the pain of being strung along emotionally hidden any longer. It had bubbled to the surface in what had been a bitter exchange between two hurt people who loved each other, but whose relationship only seemed to be garnering more pain. It had ended with Gambit leaving the car, and the next time she’d seen him had been during their meeting with the counsellor, who had promptly drugged and conditioned Purdey into thinking Gambit was dead. It was a low point in their professional and personal relationship that Purdey had no desire to revisit, but their only previous conversation about children had, unfortunately, happened right smack in the middle of the whole messy business.

“Kids,” Gambit repeated almost wistfully, gaze distant, but with a dreamy smile stretching his features. With a jolt, he seemed to remember himself and paled slightly as he met Purdey’s gaze. “Not that we have to—or you have to—it’s just idle whimsy.”

Purdey put a finger to his lips to calm him. “It’s all right,” she soothed, smiling away his fears, even if that smile was a bit shaky. “You don’t have to cosset me. We’ll talk it through properly, one of these days. Preferably on a day when we’re not worried about what’s going to become of you in a few hours’ time.”

Behind her finger, Gambit’s lips stretched into a crooked smile. “It’s probably a mad idea, anyway. Given how many times I’ve risked my neck, I’m not the safest choice for a parent, am I? You said as much last night. You already lost your father to this job. And here I am, walking straight into the lion’s den.” His next words were laced with bitterness. “Not the most reliable man in the world.”

“Yes, you are,” Purdey contradicted. “Because if you weren’t, I quite literally wouldn’t be here. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count. And as for deserving better, I’ve learned the hard way to recognise that I’ve found the best man there is.” Gambit actually blushed a little at the praise, much to Purdey’s amusement, and she added, “If anything, you deserved more than a woman who spent two years toying with your emotions while she tried to work out what was going on in her own mind.”

Gambit grinned unrepetently. “I guess we’re condemned to each other, eh?”

“I imagine we’ll survive somehow,” Purdey said lightly. “And as for being unreliable, that, Mike Gambit, is a notion I disagree with vehemently. You’re self-sacrificing to a fault. What better credential for being a parent is there?”

Gambit scratched his neck in that self-conscious way of his. “Well, it’s not only that. There’s a few other things that make me think I might not be cut out for the job.”

Purdey tilted her head inquisitively. “Such as?”

Gambit looked at the ground between his feet. “Didn’t have much of a childhood. Left home young. I don’t know that you can be a good parent to a kid if you never had much of a chance to be a kid yourself.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true,” Purdey disagreed. “I mean, as far as I can tell, you’ve never grown up, so you should have no trouble relating to a child’s mentality.”

Gambit pulled a face. “Thanks ever so.”

“My pleasure.” Purdey patted his knee patronisingly. “And anyway, the fact that you remember the ways you felt deprived means that you’d know what to do to keep it from happening again. And I know you wouldn’t let it happen again. You’d do everything in your power to make sure that your children got what they needed. I may be uncertain about having children, but it has absolutely nothing to do with your fitness for fatherhood. I think—no, I know—that you’d be an excellent father. You have so much love rumbling around in you that even I can’t take it all. Any child would be lucky to have you as a father.”

Gambit’s crooked smile turned shyly hopeful. “Do you think so?”

“I know so. And you should know better than to second guess me by now, Mike Gambit.” Purdey bopped him playfully on the nose for good measure. “I won’t hear another word about you being ill-suited for parenthood. It’s simply ridiculous.”

“All right, so I might make a good dad,” Gambit allowed, and grinned at Purdey’s huff at the word ‘might’. “But if you know that, you also know as well as I do that you’d make a good mum.”

Purdey sighed and smiled wanly. “I suppose,” she allowed. “But it’s not about that. Or not only about that. I used to be certain I wanted children, a long time ago, when I was certain I wanted a lot of things.” She drew thoughtful figures with her fingertip on Gambit’s thigh as she tried to pick out the words that would convey what she felt. “Then, after everything that happened, I wasn’t certain what I’d wanted and what I thought I wanted. What I thought I should want. What I thought would make things better, when really only I could fix them.” She bit her lip. “It’s taken longer than I’d like to untangle what I really want from old fears and associations. I only recently achieved the clarity to know that I want to be with you.” She squeezed Gambit’s leg affectionately. “Untangling what I actually want when it comes to having children, without all the baggage attached, is something that will take a little longer. But I can tell you that if I’m ever going to have any children, they are definitely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, going to be yours, Mike Gambit.”

“That’s more than I could ask for,” Gambit said genuinely, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it with feeling.

Purdey was grinning when his lips left her skin, suddenly in better humour. “Anyway, there’s always the possibility we might have the decision made for us. Suppose I fell pregnant?”

Gambit snorted. “I’d feel like a cad,” he said with a frankness that surprised her, lips pursed as though the situation was a reality, and he was actively annoyed at himself for it. “I mean, if you and I ever went the family route, I think you deserve better than me getting you up the duff before we tied the knot.”

Purdey laughed in amusement. “Mike, how old-fashioned. I wouldn’t have thought the social niceties would matter to you.”

“It’s not the niceties I’m worried about. It’s putting you in a situation that has more consequences for me than for you.” Gambit raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’d be sanguine about it?”

Purdey shrugged carelessly. “It’d make for good gossip, I suppose. But if it happened, and I knew the man was trustworthy, that he’d stay, and I wanted him to stay, the actual order doesn’t matter so much as the event.” She met his gaze. “Because no man would up and leave a woman, not if he really cared about her.”

Gambit laughed in recognition at his own words. “I thought you didn’t agree with that pearl of wisdom.”

“Yes, well, I’ve had some time to think on it, and I think the author has some good points.”

“He appreciates the sentiment,” Gambit assured, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “They should give you a medal for extreme bravery for even considering to have kids with me. They’d probably be a bunch of little hellions, too, if they took after me at all.”

Purdey started to laugh at the image of a pint-sized Gambit wreaking havoc. “Were you really? Terrible twos, and all that?”

“Terrible fourteens, more like,” Gambit corrected. “Nothing too horrible, but enough schoolboy mischief that I ended up the wrong end of a lot of reprimanding fingers.” He demonstrated by waggling his own index at her in a ‘naughty, naughty’ fashion. “Amongst other things.”

“I can imagine,” Purdey chortled. “You haven’t changed much. I imagine you felt the sting of a lot of rulers.”

“And beyond. I still feel the pains on cold winter nights,” Gambit quipped, quite enjoying this particular trip down memory lane. “What about you? I’ll bet all the teachers were eating out of your hand.”

Purdey shook her head. “I wasn’t a saint. The headmistress and I had one or two talks.”

“Only one or two?”

“Only because I hardly ever got caught,” Purdey revealed mysteriously. “And they knew it. But they did find out about the mice I was keeping in my sock drawer. And three of us were caught sneaking back in late at night after going to a film with some boys.”

Gambit feigned horror. “Purdey, I’m surprised. And here I thought you were a nice girl.”

“I was corrupted long before you came along, Mike Gambit,” Purdey said with a secretive smile.

“If only I’d known. There you were, just waiting at the Sorbonne for someone to corrupt you further.” Gambit shook his head sadly at the missed opportunity. “I would’ve dropped in on you while I was on the racing circuit.”

“I would’ve appreciated the visit,” Purdey admitted. “There were lots of nice boys about, but they didn’t have that _je ne sais quoi_. But you must have known loads of girls when you were young.”

“Never for very long,” Gambit clarified with a grin. “Navy made that a bit hard, going from port to port. My relationships were pretty brief. Not that I minded particularly.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’d rather remain ignorant on that front,” Purdey retorted.

“Suits me fine,” Gambit agreed, then added, quite seriously. “If we do ever have kids, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I want you to know that you won’t be alone in it.” He was almost painfully sincere about it, and Purdey smiled. She’d taken his mind off the events of the day for awhile, at least. And from the sounds of the things, if she ever did get pregnant by Mike, she was going to be treated like a queen. But Gambit would naturally fuss over her. She’d always known that. Hearing him say it just made her love him a little bit more.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she warned, curling her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he told her, kissing her back. “Hungry?”

“Famished. I had a piece of toast on the way out, but that was all. Steed told me to bring you in for breakfast.”

“Then we’d better get back while there’s still something left.” He offered her an arm, and she took it, before they both strode off down the lawn back toward the house.


	17. An Old Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

After breakfast, showers, and a change of clothes, there were inevitably more briefings with Larry and company, but Purdey’s concentration was fractured to say the least. Her gaze inevitably kept drifting toward Gambit, the desire to soak up as much of his presence as possible bordering on an unquenchable craving. From where she was sitting, she could only see him in profile. His features looked like they were carved from granite, he was so stony-faced. She didn’t want her last glimpses of him before he walked into lion’s den to be so irredeemably grim, but she also knew that his expression was evidence that he was doing what he needed to to steel himself for the ordeals to come. Gambit the stony-faced professional was nothing new to her, but the reason for his sombre demeanor was rarely so personal, though often just as deadly. She tried to remember that Gambit was very deadly himself, but her mind kept betraying her, reminding her that the woman he was meeting, Vanessa Thyme, had successfully kept him under lock and key and tortured him for three months. That piece of intelligence evened the odds in a way she didn’t like. Just as she felt her breakfast suddenly attempt to swim back up her throat, Gambit, sensing, as always, when she was ill-at-ease, glanced her way and…winked. Purdey wasn’t entirely certain how he knew she needed to see that little spark of Gambit charm and jauntiness right at that moment, but he did, and she loved him for it. It quieted her churning stomach for the time being, and got her through the preparations, the set-up of the cordon, the whirlwind of activity that accompanied the beginning of every operation, and suddenly, breathlessly, she found herself stood next to Gambit stood outside the club, waiting for the hour of the rendezvous to arrive. In the distance, she could see Larry and his colleagues getting into position. Gambit caught the man’s eye over Purdey’s shoulder and resisted the urge to gift him with a rude salute. He settled with a cheery smile instead, which, even from her distant vantage point, Purdey could tell actually infuriated Larry more than open hostility. 

“Don’t bait him,” Purdey chastised knowingly, catching sight of Gambit’s look of smug satisfaction even as she fiddled with her radio. “You need him on your side, not looking for more reasons to hate you.”

“I don’t think I can fall much lower in his eyes than I already have,” Gambit replied, unrepentant, still grinning infuriatingly at Larry. “But that’s all right. The feeling’s mutual.”

Purdey shook her head in mild, yet fond, rebuke. “And you wonder why I call you infuriating.”

Gambit leaned in close, and Purdey resisted the urge to let her gaze setlle on his mouth. “That’s all right. You call me lots of other things, and that’s all that matters.”

Purdey gave him a look, crossed her arms in a gesture that went from annoyance to vulnerability. “Do you think this’ll work?”

“What, do you mean me coming out of there, unharmed, without some sort of price on my head?” Gambit pursed his lips sceptically. “I doubt it. Even if Vanessa doesn’t want something—and it’s a good bet she does—then Larry will still have me in his crosshairs.”

Purdey drew her lips back tightly. “That’s not very encouraging.”

“Sorry,” Gambit apologised, but Purdey knew that didn’t make his words any less true. “I’m trying to be realistic.”

Purdey looked annoyed now. “What’s the point of this, then? Other than to put yourself in the line of fire to spare us all like the self-sacrificing idiot you are?”

Gambit grinned at her in a way that told her she’d read him like the proverbial book. “Ideally? Larry actually puts his money where his mouth is and takes Vanessa into custody, and I don’t ever have to think about her again. Failing that, find out what she wants and get her to let me go under the pretence that I’ll give it to her. Then find a way to take care of her that’ll leave us all breathing.”

“That’s a very modest wishlist.”

“I’m trying not to press my luck,” Gambit told her, cupping his hands and blowing into them to ward off the unseasonal chill in the air.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Purdey quipped, earning herself a look this time. They stood that way for a moment, just looking at each other. Then Purdey rested both hands on his shoulders. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Not at this stage.”

Gambit squeezed her upper arm reassuringly. “I’ll do my best, but I might not have a choice. Once I get in there, anything could happen. You know that.”

Purdey nodded, ever-so-slightly. “Just be careful.”

Gambit smiled encouragingly. “I will.” There was a sudden burst of static near Gambit’s ear, and he realised that Purdey’s radio, clutched in one hand, had sparked to life. “Right, positions everyone. Purdey, are you there?” It was Steed’s voice. Gambit looked back into Purdey’s blue eyes, then at where she had suddenly clutched at the fabric of his jacket sleeve.

“Time to let me go, Purdey-girl,” he announced softly. 

She shook her head, the blonde hair flying free. “I’ve only just let myself hold on.”

“I know.” But he pulled her free regardless, putting one hand briefly to his lips briefly, before starting to back away from her, still holding onto her fingers it, letting her arm stretch as far as it could reach until his fingers slipped through hers. She watched him go, felt a flush of bittersweet joy when he treated her to another saucy wink. Then he turned and all she could see was his retreating back. _Mike Gambit...._

Another burst of static reached her ear. “Purdey?”

She sighed and put the radio to her lips. “Yes, Steed?”

“Are you in position?”

“Just about.” She paused, then added. “Gambit’s gone.”

“But not forgotten.” Purdey smiled sadly. Steed. Good old Steed. “He’ll be all right. We’ll see to that.”

Purdey smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Steed. Purdey out.”

vvv

The club wasn’t particularly high-class, but Gambit had been to worse. Clean enough, if not one of London’s more stylish haunts. The same could be said of the clientele, huddled around tables while they nursed their drinks in the dim lounge area, trying their best to fade into the background. It didn’t take long to spot _her_ , the instigator of the whole ordeal. She was seated at the bar. Gambit pursed his lips and fought down the urge to panic as he took in the wash of dark hair, cascading freely down her back, and the well-toned legs crossed beneath the dark blue dress. She was looking down at her drink, right hand turning the glass slowly in a well-controlled dance that reminded him of other, less-innocuous pasttimes, her left resting palm down on the counter-top. She looked relaxed, but Gambit knew better than to fall for the carefully curated pose. He knew she was ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice, knew she could kill just about anyone in the room in seconds without so much as batting an eye, and, most importantly, he knew she knew he was there, even if she was pretending not to. She was going to force him make the first move, let him be his own tormenter, knowing he’d extend his own discomfort through his instinctive desire to delay the rendezvous. But Gambit wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of stewing. He took a deep, cleansing breath, drew on the strength of every single type of training, all the discipline he’d acquired in his long and varied career, squared his shoulders, and strode toward her.

She looked up just as he reached her side and tossed her dark locks. And there, suddenly, were the eyes, locking with his, as grey and cold as they were in every nightmare, every flashback, he’d ever had. It was frightening that the mere sight of them threatened to reduce him to the trembling wreck he had been in the cell, hanging by a thread, kept afloat only by fading hopes of escape. She smiled malevolently up at him, and he felt his heart pound violently, as though trying to burst free from his chest and escape. He wished he could do the same. With great force of will, he sat down next to her with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Major,” she greeted, using her favourite form of address—dehumanising, juxtaposing his supposed authority with his feelings of helplessness--voice feigning friendliness, just as it had always done all those years ago. She’d lost none of her twisted surface charm, nor her seemingly innocuous, conversational style that could be replaced by the clipped tones of a professional at a moment’s notice if she was riled. “Major Michael Gambit, retired. How nice of you to come.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” Gambit snapped back, resting one elbow on the bar and letting his hand dangle languidly over the edge in what he hoped was the epitome of relaxation.

“There’s always a choice, Major,” Vanessa said with a smile, sipping her drink. She was clearly enjoying tormenting him. 

“I see you dyed your hair,” Gambit observed, not bothering to dignify her taunting with a response. “Hiding from the law or having trouble looking at yourself in the mirror?” 

She ignored him. “It’s been awhile, Major.” He’d never been able to place the accent—for all he knew, it wasn’t really hers. She could have been from any corner of the world: Australia, South Africa, England. The woman was a cipher, which made it even harder to get over what she’d done to him. There was no way of working out her motivations or her feelings. It was as though he’d been brutalised by a ghost.

“Not long enough,” he spat. It felt better to channel anger than fear.

She nodded at her drink, ignoring the barb. “Can I get you something?”

“What? Poison? Chloroform? A knife between the ribs?” Gambit said knowingly, never taking his eyes off her, mindful that she might strike at any time. “I’m not here to catch up on old times. Get to the point. What do you want?”

Her smile was sickeningly coy. “What makes you think I want something?”

“You were the one who made the call and set up this damn meeting.” His jaw tightened angrily, rage bubbling his blood as he added, “And you threatened Purdey.”

Vanessa shrugged artlessly. “That was a means to an end.”

“It always is with you,” Gambit growled menacingly. “Well, now I’m here, and I’m not in the mood for small talk. So is there a reason you asked me to come, or were you just feeling lonely?”

“Oh, there’s a point, I assure you, Major,” Vanessa said airly, swirling her drink in the glass. “There’s always a point.” 

“Then make it.”

Vanessa tsked. “So impatient, Major. You weren’t in such a hurry the last time we were together. We’ll have to cure you of that.”

“Why? Are you launching a new career as a self-help guru?” Gambit quipped grimly. “Do they know your weight-loss program involves being thrown in a cell for three months?”

“You always were quick with a joke, Major,” Vanessa observed, with a touch of annoyance, brow creasing slightly, and Gambit took some grim pleasure from riling her. “A defence mechanism, no doubt.”

“And it worked pretty damn well,” Gambit pointed out, sensing a raw nerve and pressing hard. “Or don’t you remember?”

“I remember lots of things,” Vanessa said carefully, definitely on edge. “Including how stubborn you were.”

“I have it on good authority that that hasn’t changed,” Gambit shot back. “If anything, it’s gotten worse.”

“I hope not, for your sake.” Vanessa’s voice was low and menacing. “Where are the papers, Major?”

 _Ah, there it is._ Gambit cursed internally. He knew that was the likeliest reason for the meet, but he’d been hoping against hope that it might be something else. Even garden variety revenge would have been easier to cope with. People who wanted revenge were always prone to letting their emotions get the best of them, and wound up making mistakes. Asking for a specific thing left much less leeway to wriggle around and find a new solution. Still, at least he was prepared, which was more than he could say for last time he’d been in her clutches. Gambit feigned innocence. “What makes you think I still have them?”

“Don’t play games with me, Major,” Vanessa snarled, all pretence of cordiality thrown out the window. “I’ve done my research. I know you went back to Africa, and there’s nothing for you there except those papers. None of your security organisations has them. They weren’t taken from you when you were found, and I know you fancy yourself too noble to sell them.”

“Maybe I destroyed them,” Gambit said levelly. “Maybe I burned the damned things. All they ever did was cause me grief.”

Vanessa canted her head to one side, trying to look straight through his eyes and into his soul. “Maybe you did,” she allowed. “But if that is true, I’ll deduce that for myself, after we’ve spent some time together.”

“I’ve already spent enough time with you today to last a lifetime,” Gambit countered, rising to his feet. Vanessa nodded ever so slightly, and Gambit, sensing trouble, reached for his gun in his holster. Another hand appeared out of his line of vision and stayed it. Gambit looked up into the eyes of a standard issue heavy, felt his lips twitch toward a wry smile.

“I thought you travelled alone,” he said ruefully, as the man relieved him of his Smith and Wesson.

“Oh, Mark’s just a little added security,” Vanessa demurred. “I was hoping that we might be able to settle this quickly, once and for all. You could have just been honest with me about the papers, and I would have been on my way. But now I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere until I’m satisfied.”

“That’s what all the girls say,” Gambit quipped, and Mark shoved him hard forward into the bar, the solid wood bruising his flesh. Gambit’s good-humour faded instantly, expression turning deadly. “Try that again and see where it gets you,” he said to Mark, voice dangerously level.

“Play nice, Major,” Vanessa warned, sliding off the stool with an economy of movement that betrayed her combat training. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt, do you?”

Gambit pulled an incredulous face. “I didn’t know you and Mark were that close.”

“Oh, we’re not,” Vanessa assured. “But you have all those colleagues of yours out there.” She nodded toward the window. “I’m perfectly aware that this place is surrounded, but if they can see us, I can assure you we can see them, too. And I wouldn’t want any of them to get hurt on your account.” She smiled secretively. “If you behave, I’ll show you what I mean.”

Gambit desperately wanted to take down Mark and make a run for it, but instinct told him to play along for the time being. He nodded at Vanessa without comment. 

She led the way, with Mark bringing up the rear, sandwiching Gambit in-between. They took a flight of stairs up to a private room. It was appointed with a few tables and chairs, situated around a patch of floor ideally suited to small, private dance parties, and a bar that likely would’ve been staffed if their meet-up was a little more sociable. There were some windows overlooking the back of the club stretched along one wall. Two more heavies stood guard on either side of the door like sentries, one of whom closed the door behind their less-than-happy little party of four. On one, small table in the middle of the room, a pair of binoculars sat innocuously. Vanessa nodded at them, then at the window set into the wall opposite. “Have a look through those, Major,” she suggested, with studied casualness. “I think you might be interested in the view.”

“The only thing I’m interested in looking at is you behind bars,” Gambit snapped. “Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want any part of it.”

“Oh, I know how you feel about games, Major,” Vanessa said, with the strangest look on her face. “And I know how you respond to them. But I promise you this is no game. I’m being very, very serious.” She nodded once more at the binoculars. “Have a look, and then you’ll understand.”

Gambit considered for a moment, not bothering to hide how suspicious he was. He really didn’t like to do what Vanessa said under any circumstances, but something told him he ought to this time. Jaw set and eyes dangerously narrow slits, he stepped forward and snatched the binoculars off the table, then strode over to the window with quick, efficient strides. He glared at Vanessa over his shoulder once more, just to make his displeasure known, before turning and raising the binoculars to his eyes.

It took a moment to work out what he was meant to see that was so special. There was the street outside the front of the club, as expected. There were pavements and cars and people and—

Purdey.

Gambit felt his blood run cold.

Vanessa’s voice was suddenly in his ear, hissing unpleasantly with the satisfaction of one who had just called ‘checkmate’. “I have a man with a sniper rifle trained on her pretty little head as we speak. He’s an excellent shot. She wouldn’t stand a chance. I’m proposing a simple trade, Major. You give me the papers or, failing that, yourself, and I let her live.”

“You kill her, and my people will be in here so fast they’ll make your head spin,” Gambit warned. “And you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

Vanessa clucked her tongue. “You disappoint me, Major. You ought to know by now that I always have an exit strategy. We’ll be long gone before they’re in the door.”

Gambit lowered the binoculars, but didn’t turn around, lest the sight of Vanessa’s smug features cause him to do something he’d regret. “You won’t kill her,” he said confidently, taking a different tack, managing to match Vanessa’s smugness with his own. “She’s your leverage. You kill her, and I won’t have any reason to tell you a damned thing. You already know you can’t beat answers out of me.”

“True,” Vanessa conceded airily, as though they were having a friendly debate over a cup of coffee in a cosy café. “I learned the hard way that you’ll endure pain, and that you have a seemingly limitless penchant for self-sacrifice. No, saving others is the key to your personality.”

“Right,” Gambit agreed, but with less confidence than he would have liked. He had the unsettling feeling that the other shoe was hovering just over his head, preparing to drop. “And if you kill Purdey, you’ll have nothing left to bargain with.”

“Perhaps,” Vanessa conceded. “But that’s a risk I’m willing to take. Killing Purdey will make you hate me even more, of that I have no doubt. But what I’m betting on is that, even with her dead, you won’t stop caring about everyone else.” She leaned in closer, lips almost touching his ear now, and he fought down the urge to recoil so he wouldn’t miss the words she whispered into it. “Because if you still don’t give me the papers, even after I kill her, then I’ll move on to everyone else. Steed. Your cousin. Your aunt. Maybe even Purdey’s family, just to put them out of their misery after her demise.” Gambit felt his chest tighten, felt the breath catch in his throat, the world closing in around him, suffocating him. “Purdey’s death may break you, but will it be enough to make Mike Gambit turn his back on the suffering of the rest of the world? How many people will have to die before you give in?” She paused to let it sink in, the idea of dozens of deaths weighing on his conscience. “It’ll be the most exquisite torture. And I won’t have to lay a finger on you.” As if to illustrate her point, she rested her index finger lightly on the shoulder of his jacket, where Purdey’s own fingers had been not ten minutes before. The idea of Vanessa’s touch actually displacing whatever trace of Purdey that had been left behind added extra heft to her threat “And then, when the guilt becomes too much, when you are haunted by too many faces when you close your eyes, too many people you could have saved, and you give in, all you’ll be able to think is how you could have saved them all, and most importantly, could have saved her, if you’d only done what I asked in the first place. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. It will be you who hastened her demise. And how does that make you any better than Larry Doomer?”

It was the wrong—or maybe the right—thing to say. Gambit did whirl around now, karate training forgotten in favour of the satisfying blunt force of a perfectly-executed right hook to Vanessa’s jaw. Her head snapped back with the force of the impact, but Gambit didn’t let up, bringing his forearm up and thrusting it against her neck, slamming her bodily into the wall. The heavies sprang to life, intent on dragging him off, but Vanessa stilled them with a wave of her hand, even as Gambit pressed hard on her throat.

“Purdey’s not anyone’s victim,” he spat, vitriol bubbling forth. “Not Doomer’s, and definitely not yours. And when she’s heard what you just said, you’d better pray she doesn’t come after you and finish you herself.”

Vanessa, for her part, merely smiled, baring teeth stained red, mouth bloodied from Gambit’s punch. “Welcome back, Major,” she drawled. “I was worried your time in the service had made you soft.”

“Oh, I still know how to kill people,” Gambit said, voice low, level, and deadly. “I don’t enjoy it, and I’m never doing to order again. But don’t think I won’t do what needs to be done.”

Vanessa sneered her scarlet smile. “And you think you can protect Purdey?” she wheezed, Gambit’s arm applying harder pressure to her windpipe.

“Purdey can protect herself,” Gambit snapped back. “She’s the best. For all you know, she’s already spotted your sniper and got out of range.”

“Maybe,” Vanessa croaked. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t try again, later, when she’s not on her guard.”

Gambit allowed himself a dark smile. “If you can get close enough.” 

“I didn’t say it would be easy,” Vanessa countered. “But I’m a patient woman, as you well know. I’ll wait, for however long it takes. Years, even, when she’s tending the garden outside your cottage in Wales.”

Gambit felt his blood run cold. “What did you say?” he murmured faintly.

Vanessa’s grin broadened, causing a thin stream of blood to trickle out of the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t know if I’d ever pick up anything useful from that microphone I planted on Steed’s grounds,” she gasped. “I planted it a week ago. It was hard to get it there to begin with. But then, this morning, you and Purdey went outside to have a little chat. Nothing about the papers, but it was interesting to hear about your life plans. Very touching.” Her eyes turned cold. “If I can get there, into Steed’s inner sanctum, I can find a way to her. And if you want Purdey to have anyone’s children, let alone yours, you’ll take my offer, before I put her out of commission for good.”

Gambit felt all his fight drain away, and Vanessa knew it before he dropped his forearm from her throat. Even the strangled breath Vanessa emitted as she rubbed her bruised neck failed to bring him any pleasure. “Very sensible, Major,” she rasped.

Gambit was looking at the floor, jaw working madly. “Just tell me what I have to do,” he muttered, sounding tired and defeated.

“Nothing,” Vanessa said simply, wiping away the blood with the back of her hand. “Just come quietly, without a fight, so we can have a little talk. Or a long one. Depends on whether we can cure you of that stubborn streak.”

Gambit raised his head, fixed her with a piercing gaze. “And Purdey will be safe?”

“I promise,” Vanessa vowed. “As long as you keep to your part of the bargain. You wouldn’t want her to miss her thirtieth birthday on your account, would you?” She took in Gambit’s poisonous glare with remarkable sangfrois, though one of the henchmen took a step back. “We’ll even divert her, take her out of the line of fire as a gesture of goodwill, so you’ll know she can’t have been shot.”

Gambit returned to the window, picked up the binoculars from where he’d dropped them, and looked out at Purdey one last time. _Oh, Purdey, Purdey…I’m sorry._ “All right,” he said resignedly. “You’ve got a deal. I’ll go with you, but no one gets hurt, not only Purdey. Or I won’t tell you a damn thing.”

Vanessa smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said brightly. She turned to Mark, who stepped forward smartly. “Mark, relieve the Major of the keys to his Range Rover. Take it for a spin to the Major’s flat, lead them off.”

“Right.” Mark rummaged about in Gambit’s pockets before finding the keys. Gambit’s face was twisted into a scowl. He didn’t like it, but what else could he do?

Vanessa slid her skirt up her thigh and retrieved a pistol from her garter, prodded Gambit in the ribs. “Just like old times, Major.”

“Sadly,” was Gambit’s reply. He raised his hands in surrender. “Where do you want me?”

Vanessa’s smile was one of satisfaction. “Follow my lead, Major. We have our own special exit.”

vvv

Purdey had her gaze fixed on the front of the club when she saw Gambit’s Rover, parked more than a block from the club, suddenly peel away, seemingly of its own accord, with no small amount of surprise. She thumbed the radio urgently. “Steed, what’s going on? Gambit hasn’t left, has he?” 

Steed’s reply was equally urgent. “Our eyes suggest someone with his build and another man got in. We’re still trying to work out where they came from.”

“Are they certain it was Gambit?” Purdey wanted to know, well-aware that it could be a swap meant to throw them off the scent.

“No positive identification on either face, I’m afraid. Get after them. We’ll keep watch here.”

Purdey broke cover before Steed’s order to pursue had even finished buzzing through the static. Her skirt swished around her legs as she sprinted, flat out, for the TR7, almost leaving the ground as she swung round the bonnet and yanked open the driver’s door. Within moments she was in gear and gunning the car out of the carpark in a handbrake turn that Gambit would have appreciated, had he been in the position to offer up commendation.

As it was, Gambit could only watch the yellow car tear after the Rover with more than a hint of despair. Sadly, he wasn’t in it. He worked his jaw, conflicting emotions coursing through him. On the one hand, he felt his heart twisting at the sight of Purdey disappearing from his life, perhaps forever. He’d watched her sprint, longs legs pumping gracefully, blonde hair flying, with the same amount of awe he’d had when he’d first seen her run. She was something else, something wonderful. He knew that might be the last time he laid eyes on her. There was no guarantee he’d ever get away from Vanessa once she had him where she wanted him, especially when he refused to give her what she wanted. But if it was his last glimpse of Purdey, it was a hell of a last glimpse.

The other part of him, the part that cared more about Purdey’s well-being, that part was glad Vanessa was letting her go, leaving her be as per their agreement. He could feel the woman’s breath on the back of his neck even as his thoughts tumbled over one another. The gun was still jabbed into his ribs, which seemed unnecessary. It wasn’t as if he had any intention of escaping—not yet, anyway. 

Vanessa’s voice echoed in his ear as if from far away, but the words were directed at one of her henchmen. “The girl’s in pursuit. Tell Mark to wait for Robertson until he deals with her?”

Gambit stiffened. He thought he’d saved Purdey. That was the reason he’d agreed to go along with the whole thing.

“Now just a minute,” he growled, whirling to face her. “We had a deal!”

There was a sharp pain in his side, and he glanced down just in time to see Vanessa withdraw a syringe. He tried to reach for her, but his movements were slow and clumsy.

“If you hurt her,” he slurred, “then you’re all dead, and damned if I’ll tell you anything.”

Vanessa smiled that unflappable smile, the one that he could still see in his nightmares. “Don’t worry, Major,” she soothed. “I didn’t know she’d be the one to give chase, but the man at your flat has orders to distract anyone who disturbs him, not kill them.” She reached out and turned Gambit’s head so his glassy eyes to meet hers. “But if she’s as good as they say, there’s nothing to worry about. Is there?”

Gambit tried to reply, but his head was too muzzy to put the words together. He felt his legs give way, saw the world spin around him. Then everything went black, and he knew no more.

vvv

Purdey followed the Range Rover, matching its reckless speed. The driver—she couldn’t be certain Gambit was even in the car, let alone driving—was obviously eager to get to his destination. She considered her quarry as best she could while executing highspeed turns and watching out for pedestrians. The driving style wasn’t Gambit’s, she decided—too out-of-control for a man who knew how to manipulate his vehicle to the point that it was an extension of himself, a skill honed by his years on the racetrack. But if he had been drugged first, or worse still, injured, his reflexes would obviously be dulled, blunted. In which case, Purdey thought it could be him. She could picture him barely holding on, biding his time until he reached his destination. That worried her. But there was someone else with him. Wasn’t that what Steed had said? A heavy, she assumed. But if that was the case, why would the heavy let Gambit drive drugged or injured? If he wound up crashing, it wouldn’t do either of them any good. It didn’t make sense. That left Gambit as the passenger, or no Gambit at all, which meant this was a diversion. Which meant he was back at the club somewhere. She hoped Steed and the others were keeping their eyes peeled, because there were more unknown variables than she liked.

Without warning, the Rover swerved dangerously into the other lane, and Purdey felt her heart skip a beat involuntarily. _It might not be him at all_ , she reminded herself. A fake, a trap. But deep down, she didn’t want to believe that. She wanted to believe Gambit was in that Rover, and that she could get him out, unharmed, bring him back from the edge. And wouldn’t have to face the night alone.

The Rover disappeared around a corner, and Purdey cursed under her breath as she sped up. She had been so busy watching the Rover, so lost in her thoughts, that she hadn’t bothered to take note of its ultimate destination. Now, as she, too, rounded the corner, she registered the familiar sights of Gambit’s street. Home. The Rover was going home. Her heart leaped hopefully. Maybe whoever was driving had brought Gambit back to his flat. As she approached his building, she could see the Rover parked at the curb in front of Mike’s block of flats. Parking hurriedly behind the white vehicle, she vaulted out of the TR7 and dashed over to the driver’s side. 

The door of the Rover was gaping open, but the interior was empty. No sign of Gambit at all, or an unwelcome passenger. Purdey bit her lip, tipped her head back and looked up at one of the windows that belonged to Mike’s flat. If he had been taken up there, it would likely be at gunpoint, she knew. There was no sign of anyone in the immediate vicinity. She glanced up and down the street, darkened by this point in the evening, searching for some other place they might have gone. But there was no one.

She closed the Rover’s door absently, and made for the front door of the block of flats. Across the street, a non-descript white car hid Mark and another man from Purdey’s questing gaze. Mark leaned back in his seat and smiled as Purdey disappeared inside the building. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Purdey jittered impatiently while she waited for the lift to reach Gambit’s floor. The indicator seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace. She braced herself in the narrow confines of the space, and shot out as soon as the doors opened, nearly colliding with the middle-aged woman who was waiting outside. Purdey distractedly recognised her as Mrs. Dorchester, one of Gambit’s neighbours on his floor. Purdey had attempted to strike up a friendly conversation with her on more than one occasion, but the woman was less than impressed with Mike Gambit, who always seemed to be crawling home at all hours with cuts and bruises she rather uncharitably presumed were due to one too many pub brawls. The number of young women she had seen exiting his flat at one time or another hadn’t helped matters, and even though, in recent months, Purdey had been his only female visitor, she still refused to amend her assessment of the man down the hall. Purdey had the sneaking suspicion that she was rather annoyed about Purdey’s staying power, as though she were ruining a perfectly good excuse for the woman to be judgmental. Purdey gave her a fleeting smile, but didn’t linger to chat. She had more important things to attend to than Mrs. Dorchester’s disapproval. Hopefully, Gambit was in his flat. Alive, if not alone.

The door to the flat was ominously ajar when she rounded the corner of the corridor. Purdey skidded to a stop, and approached cautiously, suddenly struck with a healthy dose of wariness. The door was open about halfway, and Purdey manoeuvred herself until she could just peer through the opening. The narrow view it permitted didn’t provide much comfort. She could make out scattered books on the floor, and at least one piece of overturned furniture, but whoever had taken it upon themselves to violently redecorate Gambit’s flat, she couldn’t see them. Taking a deep breath, she prodded the door, watched it swing open all the way. Nothing happened. After a moment, she stepped inside, eyes darting about, searching for Gambit, for anyone at all. Still nothing. She checked behind the door, aware that was a favourite hiding place for people planning to jump someone, but found it disappointingly unoccupied.

The flat itself, however, was a disaster area. The scattering of the books was only the beginning. Everywhere she looked, there was evidence of what looked suspiciously like a search. The sketches from Gambit’s portfolio were scattered everywhere, the drafting board sitting askew on its stand. The pictures on the wall were crooked, where they hadn’t been pulled off and cast aside completely. The weapons in the display case had been shoved to one side, some toppled over onto the shelves below. None of this was Gambit’s doing. He would never have treated such treasured personal possessions so carelessly. Someone else had been there. Or still was.

Purdey sighed and put her hands on her hips. Stealth was getting her nowhere, and her raw nerves weren’t going to be able to take much more suspense. She gave up on being quiet and called out. “Mike?” she asked hopefully. “Are you there?”

Someone heard her, because there was a clatter from the bedroom. Purdey stepped toward it, praying that it was Gambit. “Mike? It’s me. Are you all right?”

She heard approaching footsteps, and backed halfway to the door before the heavy came into view. She knew Gambit’s rocking gait as well as her own, and the wrongness of the rhythm of the shoes on the floor tipped her off immediately. The man eyed her up. Purdey did the same.

“Where’s Gambit?” she demanded, feeling anger rush through her, brushing aside the fear. 

The man didn’t say anything, just continued his advance. Purdey watched him warily, judging the distance between them, biding her time until he was within striking distance. The man didn’t seem interested in keeping up his end of the conversation. In fact, considering the way he was holding his hands out in front of him, the only thing he was interested in was snapping Purdey’s neck like a twig.

 _That’s what he thinks,_ Purdey thought with a certain degree of smugness. _Just a bit closer..._

He obliged, and she let loose with two of her best high-kicks. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to faze him much. She leapt back before his grasping hands could find a hold around her throat, then circled around to plant her foot in his lower back, pushing hard enough to make him lose his balance and tip forward. He caught himself on the couch, and wheeled around with eyes blazing and the obvious intention of doing her a damage, but Purdey was on the move, vaulting nimbly over the bar, skirt flying. She made a split-second decision and hefted the decorative Buddha head that usually graced the surface. She’d never been particularly fond of it, and it was with hardly a twinge of regret that she rounded the bar and brought it down hard on the man’s head with a certain amount of satisfaction as he rushed up to intercept her. Mercifully, that dazed him, and this time she used her fist instead of her foot to deal the follow-up blow. His nose appeared to be particularly sensitive, because the blow elicited the first cry he’d emitted in their bout, and he fell back against the wall clutching at it. Purdey smiled slightly to herself, confidence growing, and decided to deliver another kick as the _coup de grace_ , intending to show off a little. It was the wrong thing to do. The man had obviously anticipated her signature move, because he ceased nursing his damaged nose long enough to grab her leg, and heaved. Purdey flew backward through the air, slamming into the couch before somersaulting over the back and landing on the floor in an untidy heap. All the air was knocked out of her lungs upon impact, and Purdey lay gasping on the floor, temporarily out of commission. She desperately tried to coax air back into her burning lungs, fighting the blackness creeping into the edges of her vision, listening out for her attacker’s advance over the dull ringing in her ears. She could do nothing but wait for him to come for her, and hope she was capable of fending off another attack. But none came. Slowly, tortuously, she rolled from her back onto her side, feeling a dozen or so fresh bruises along her spine and various other parts of her body that had taken the brunt of the impact makes themselves forcefully known. With great effort, she managed to get onto her hands and knees, using the back of the couch for support, and dragged herself up off the floor. Peering over the couch, she scanned the flat, but it appeared that her opponent had turned tail and made a run for it. Purdey groaned and stood up the rest of the way, brushing a few strands of blonde hair out of her eyes in bemusement. She had been lying there, helpless. The heavy must have known that. Why leave rather than finish the job? 

Then she remembered the ringing. Come to think of it, it hadn’t sounded much like the type of ringing that accompanied a blow to the head. On the contrary, it had sounded suspiciously like a telephone. Purdey whirled around and located Gambit’s phone on the small table beside her, askew but with the receiver still in place. She straightened its position out of habit and considered the facts. Someone had obviously rung the flat and signalled her opponent to retreat. She decduced that his orders were to find something in Gambit’s flat, not to kill anyone who interrupted him.

Purdey sat on the arm of the couch and took a moment to recover herself, now that she could afford the luxury of a rest. After a few minutes, she heard more footsteps, and she jerked her head up in time to see Steed appear in the doorway, brolly held point up at the ready.

“Are you alone?” he asked quietly.

Purdey nodded, then regretted it. Her head still hurt a bit, and she remembered thumping it on the floor slightly when she landed. “Yes,” she clarified, as Steed entered and took in their surroundings. “Although I wasn’t a moment ago.”

Steed looked alarmed, and moved to her side. “Are you all right?” he queried with obvious concern, eyes scanning her quickly and efficiently for any sign of injury.

“Bit bruised, that’s all,” Purdey sighed ruefully, rubbing at her aching back. “I think I broke his nose, but he got his revenge and tipped me over the couch.”

Steed’s expression betrayed his relief. “Did you recognise him?”

“No,” Purdey grumbled, standing gingerly. “Standard issue thug. But I could probably pick him out if I saw him again. He was searching the bedroom when I got here. How he managed to make such a mess in such a short space of time...” She gestured at the ransacked flat.

“I doubt he was the man you chased,” Steed hypothesised, bending to retrieve a pair of books from where they were scattered on the floor to set them on the coffee table. “There were skid marks across from where the Rover was parked. I’ve a feeling the men you chased switched cars and waited for the one up here. I suspect he was taking advantage of Gambit’s absence to look around.”

Purdey nodded carefully, remembering to protect her sore head. “That makes sense. He must have seen enough, because I certainly wasn’t in any shape to fend him off.”

Steed sucked his teeth. “Is there anything missing?” 

“I haven’t exactly had time to check,” Purdey pointed out irritably. She felt a jolt as her brain reminded her of more important things. “Steed…if Mike wasn’t in the Rover, where is he? Did he...did he come out of the club again?”

Steed looked downcast. “We had all the exits covered, but when we went in, there was no sign of him, or Miss Thyme. I was rather hoping I’d find him here with you.”

“Nothing at this end,” Purdey said miserably, thumping the couch angrily. “I should have let the Rover go and stayed with you. We knew it might be a decoy.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “I failed him.”

“We all did,” Steed corrected, “to an extent, but I think Gambit expected that. He knew the risks better than anyone, and he’s been trying to warn us about them since the moment Miss Thyme made the rendezvous. What’s important is that we don’t give up on him. That was his primary concern. That and your safety.” He eyed Purdey meaningfully.

“You mean...you think he was the reason the goon left?” It made sense, and it gave her hope. If Gambit was capable of striking bargains, nothing too terrible could have happened to him. Yet.

Steed was exuding that particular Steed brand of confidence. “I know it,” he said robustly. “Now, do you think there’s any chance of finding fingerprints?”

Purdey shook her head, thinking back to her attacker. “No, he was wearing gloves. And I don’t think his search was going very well. He’d resorted to looking in the bedroom, and there’s hardly anything to go through in there.” She bent to gather up some more of Mike’s books, returned them to their home on the shelf. Steed did the same. “But I’ll check to see if anything’s missing in any case.”

“Now?” Steed inquired. Purdey nodded.

“I’m going to stay the night,” she told Steed simply. “It’ll be easier to sleep if I know someone’s here to look after him if he does manage to find his way back. And I’ll clean things up here before I go to bed.” She shrugged, then added, a little shyly, “This is the only place I can protect him right now, at least a little. And it’ll make me feel useful,” she added, hoping Steed would understand, but there was never any real fear of that. Not where Steed was concerned. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right here, all alone?” he asked kindly.

She smiled sadly. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And if you want me to sleep...”

Steed nodded. “I do. If you take care of things here, I’ll have Larry and the others investigate other possible angles.” He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he promised.

“Thank you, Steed,” Purdey said gratefully.

“Not at all.” He gave her one of his trademark Steed smiles. “And don’t worry too much about Gambit. He has too much to lose to give up the ghost. And he’s very good at taking care of himself. Don’t forget that.”

Purdey nodded. “I won’t. Good night, Steed.” 

He doffed his bowler, and was gone.


	18. Dreams and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: Ninth in a series. Takes place in November, 1977, a few months after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc: Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit, Brazil, Life on Mars, and 'Til Death.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Purdey spent the next hour or so righting furniture and straightening out the weapons in the display case. Then she turned her attention to the small, elevated alcove where the display case and the rest of Gambit’s weapons made their home, and knelt to gather up the scattered pieces of paper that had been thrown into disarray when the thug had dashed Gambit’s portfolio to the floor. As she set about reuniting the pages, she was suddenly struck by the variety of subjects Gambit had sketched over the years: here, under the drafting board, the London skyline from his flat’s window; there, draped on the stairs, a landscape. And kicked beneath the display case, a series of sketches fastened together with a paper clip. Plans, from different angles, for a dream flat that he always dismissed as just that—a dream. But Purdey knew better. He liked his bachelor pad, she knew, but she also knew he had been working at the design for nearly two years now; a place, he said, for a more settled life, when he knew where he was meant to be. In his current position at the Ministry, Gambit never knew when he was going to be sent off on assignment, or where in the country (or world) he would wind up if he was. Even before he had taken on his current line of work, his life had been decidedly peripatetic, between the navy and the army and the race car driving. But Purdey believed that, one day, he would have his flat. Although, if she were honest with herself, she had come to think of it as _their_ flat, ever since he’d shown her the drawings and, rather endearingly, shyly given her a virtual tour of the residence, explaining how he meant to do the work himself. She’d spent many a happy hour over the past few months, chin resting on Gambit’s shoulder, watching his hand trace quick, precise lines over the paper, and offering the odd suggestion of her own. She was worried he’d take offence at first, that he’d think that she was somehow critiquing his vision. But Gambit had welcomed her input, weaving her ideas seamlessly into his to create a coherent whole. It was the first tangible thing that had been uniquely theirs. Not his. Not hers. Theirs. Even if it only existed on paper. 

Certainly there were echoes of planning her dreamhouse with Larry, but this was different somehow, she mused as she flipped through the pages, turning to the margins to read the scribbled notes in Gambit’s somewhat untidy hand that gave so many typing pool secretaries a headache when it came to reading his paperwork. Because with Larry, it hadn’t been a partnership, with equal input. Larry had planned the house with the implication that she might get to choose a piece of furniture here and there when they moved in, but when it came to any major decisions, the project was undoubtedly his. With Gambit, it was a collaborative effort—he had made a start of the project, but over time she had come to mould his vision in ways Gambit never would have dreamt. They complimented one another. Now it was Purdey’s dream too, and she hoped, one day, that it would become a reality, that she would see the flat come to life before her very eyes, would pick out paint chips and push furniture about. With Gambit. Together. As partners.

 _And we will,_ Purdey vowed firmly. _I promise you..._

She found one last sketch, resting on the chair pushed in front of the drafting board as she moved to return the portfolio to its rightful place. She reached out and picked it up, her hands shaking as she did so, and fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

Gambit had told her he wanted to try his hand at drawing her. Purdey, after much gentle persuasion and flattery, had succumbed to Gambit’s charm and agreed to be his subject. (She drew the line at posing nude, which Gambit had suggested with one of his trademark wicked grins.) She remembered watching him as she tried her best to keep still, marvelling at how he managed to transfer the detail of life into art. It had come as a surprise to her, back in February of 1976, that Gambit had an artistic side, even if he seemed happy to keep it a secret. She’d resisted the temptation to snoop through his sketches back then, and she was glad she had exercised restraint when he had finally consented to her casting an eye over his work. Gambit was surprisingly self-conscious about it, nervous in exposing his labours to another for fear of criticism. But when it became clear that Purdey’s “oohs” and “ahs” stemmed from genuine appreciation rather than her simply humouring him, his confidence soared, and his explanations of his pieces became more intimate and detailed. He started pointing out particular touches of which he was particularly proud, or that had special significance. Purdey, who had only ever drawn casually, found his descriptions fascinating from both a practical perspective, and as a road into Gambit’s psyche, an insight into the man himself. She had come to love the drawings, and, as a fellow purveyor of the arts, admired the skill. She now found the sight of Gambit’s shapely hands smudged with ink and graphite endearing, even erotic. Purdey smiled sadly down at the portrait. Despite Gambit’s protestations that it was a first effort, and therefore rough, she thought he’d captured her perfectly. “I’ll do better next time,” he’d vowed, revealing a perfectionist streak.

“You did well this time,” she’d assured, and advised him to get it framed. He’d actually blushed before mumbling something about it needing to be ‘cleaned-up.’

Purdey sighed and added the sketch to the others, zipped up the portfolio with a finality that frightened her. Gambit would be back to finish it. He had to. Portfolio back in place, she left the alcove hurriedly in search of something else to clear up before the tears threatened.

vvv

Gambit came to slowly, letting consciousness flow back while keeping still, unwilling to alert any watchers to the fact that he was waking up. He kept his head bowed and eyes closed, even while his other senses reported for duty and started gathering intel. The first sensation that swam through the fog was of the ropes biting into his wrists. Further analysis revealed that his hands were lashed behind him, and his feet were bound around the ankles. He was upright, obviously seated in a chair. His mouth, however, wasn’t gagged. Gambit took that as a bad sign—if they weren’t worried about him crying out, that meant there was no one out there to hear him. No one who was sympathetic to his plight, at any rate.

So far, everything pointed to escape being difficult, but Gambit pushed that rather depressing conclusion aside, and let his other senses seek out information about his surroundings. Someone out there was breathing, but not moving. A guard, perhaps? That could prove a help or a hindrance, depending on whether or not Gambit could convince his watcher to undo the bonds. Mike doubted it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

The room was cool, too, he observed, and he realised that his jacket and tie were gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Gambit remembered being in a similar state of undress when he had first found himself in his cell. That horrible, soul-sucking cell... _Oh hell_. Gambit fought down rising panic, struggled to keep his breathing regular as the implications of being alone, helpless, in the hands of the same woman who had tormented him for three long months, sunk in. He found himself trying to intuit, through sheer force of will, if his hair was still there, or if it had been shorn once more. _Purdey wouldn’t like that. Purdey!_ The last memory before the blackness took him came rushing back, of Vanessa telling one of her minions to frighten Purdey. Gambit felt his pulse quicken, struggled to remain calm, but he knew he hadn’t been successful the instant he heard the footsteps on the floor. _No, bootsteps._ Her _bootsteps._

“You’re awake, Major,” the all-too-familiar voice stated, sounding almost bored. “Don’t play dead. I’m not in the mood.”

Gambit resigned himself to opening his eyes, and slowly raised his head until he was looking up into the steely pools, just as he had dozens of times all those years ago, to the point that her face was inexorably linked with the pain that was to come. And here he was, helpless to do much of anything but look defiant until he had a chance to escape. Or someone found him. Vanessa seemed to recognise the parallels too, because she smiled companionably, and dropped into a crouch so they were eye-to-eye. “Just like old times, isn’t it?” she commented conversationally.

“Sadly,” Gambit snapped, glancing around at his accommodation now that he had no reason to pretend he was asleep. Other than his chair, the only other piece of furniture was a table with a pitcher of water on it. No sign of any implements of interrogation, which didn’t necessarily mean there weren’t some hidden somewhere, but at this point Gambit was willing to take every break he could get. The room itself was completely white—white tiles on the floor, white walls, plain white painted ceiling with a single, simple light fixture hanging in the centre. There’d been a window at one point, but someone had bricked it in and painted it over in—surprise, surprise--white. Gambit looked back at Vanessa, smiled mirthlessly. “The accommodations are a step up, though,” he quipped.

“Yes, aren’t they?” Vanessa agreed, giving the space a once-over. “It was a bit of overkill on Solomon’s part to cram you into that little cess pit, but I didn’t have much say in the matter.”

“You do know I’m not going to help you anymore than I did then?” Gambit said calmly, with that matter-of-fact voice that always worked so well with enemy agents. It didn’t always make them acquiesce, but Gambit knew it might at least earn him some respect for his confidence. Gambit wasn’t entirely certain if Vanessa had any respect for him or not, after all she’d done to him, but it couldn’t hurt to show her he was capable of calm rationality in the face of fear. 

Vanessa smiled knowingly. “You always were a stubborn one, Major.”

“Don’t call me that,” Gambit snapped, the old title, a relic of a past life, grating against his already raw nerves. “I’m not in the service anymore.”

Vanessa snorted, straightened up and started to circle his chair. “I don’t see what difference it makes. You’re still killing people for your government.”

“We went through this earlier, when I was strangling you.” Gambit let his head fall back against the chair, grinning almost madly, enjoying the memory of that brief moment of control. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Enlighten me,” Vanessa challenged, peering down at him from above and behind his seat.

Gambit didn’t know where the conversation was going, but she hadn’t started asking him for anything yet, so he didn’t see any harm in answering--especially if it killed time. The longer she she took to start shaking information out of him, the better. “When I was in Africa, killing was the endgame. Cold-blooded killing. Putting a bullet into someone’s skull for no reason. Now, I kill when I have to, and only when I have to. In hot blood,” he couldn’t help but adding. Vanessa frowned at the reference, not being privy to the in-joke about the temperament of his Irish granny, but didn’t comment. Gambit didn’t care. It was for his benefit, not hers, and in those particularly grim circumstances, any small personal victory was to be celebrated.

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Vanessa said instead, not sounding convinced by his reasoning. “I suppose your good lady partner feels the same way?” 

“Yes, only she’d make an exception in your case. Take you down in cold blood,” Gambit retorted with grim certainty, felt a flush of anger as he remembered what had happened just before he’d passed out. “What the hell did your man do to her, anyway? We had a bargain—“

“We did,” Vanessa confirmed nonchalantly. “And we still do. We only led her off. She got into some fisticuffs with one of my men, but if it makes you feel better, he seemed to come off the worse for it.” She caught Gambit’s sceptical look. “Well if you don’t believe me...Robertson!”

A man Gambit didn’t recognise shuffled in, looking embarrassed. It was easy to see why. Affixed over the bridge of his nose was a rather large plaster. Gambit smiled in satisfaction. That was Purdey’s handiwork all right. He felt a swell of affection and pride. “She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” he addressed Robertson cheerfully, who scowled in obvious disagreement. Vanessa, however, seemed to share in the joke.

“I wouldn’t expect any less from one of your girls,” she agreed, coming around the back of the chair to face him again. “Or is she _the_ girl?” 

Gambit didn’t answer that. There was no sense in giving her more information about his relationship about Purdey than he had to, especially since Gambit knew that Vanessa’s willingness to let her go unharmed had more to do with keeping her alive as potential leverage than any particular desire to win Gambit’s trust. Vanessa watched his jaw set stubbornly before shrugging.

“No matter. We’ve other things to talk about. Now Major, I have a question or two for you. You know the drill. Answer and spare yourself unpleasantness. Otherwise...” She let the sentence hang as Gambit’s memories filled in the blanks. “It’s quite simple really,” she went on. “When you filed your report right before you resigned from the military, you said you didn’t know what had happened to the papers. That you’d broken into Solomon’s compound and been captured and only managed to get out by the skin of your teeth.”

Gambit pursed his lips and said nothing. Vanessa sighed, and ran a hand through her newly-dark hair. “You’re not helping anyone, Major, least of all yourself. Let’s try another one. Who else knows about the papers?”

Again, Gambit said nothing, eyes staring straight ahead. Vanessa threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine, be stubborn. You know, you haven’t changed a bit since last time.”

“I have,” Gambit contradicted, with a glint in his eye. “The right bit.”

“You don’t leave me much choice, Major. There’s someone else here who’d like a go at curing you of that stubborn streak.” She went to the door and opened it. Gambit craned his neck to see around her, felt his heart stop. Grinning madly, a man lumbered into the room. Big and burly, he stood before Gambit, arms crossed. Gambit worked his jaw. He’d been prepared for Vanessa’s usual tactics, but this turn of events had well and truly pulled the rug out from under him. Somehow, he managed to coax three words out of his suddenly-paralysed vocal cords.

“O’Hara. Tommy O’Hara.” 

“Good.” Grinning, O’Hara bent until he could lock eyes with his future victim. “I wouldn’t enjoy this nearly as much if you didn’t remember. Then again, you did have me locked up only a few months ago. Or did you forget?”

“I remember,” Gambit snarled back, anger triumphing over fear. “Course, if I had my way, you’d have gotten worse than solitary.”

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “Never in cold blood, Major?”

“There are exceptions,” Gambit growled back.

“You gonna tell us what we want to know?” O’Hara asked eagerly.

Gambit swallowed, knowing what sort of reaction that his words would elicit. He took a deep breath, felt his body ready itself for attack. “No.”

O’Hara smiled broadly. “I was hoping you’d say that.” His fist pulled back.

Gambit tasted blood. 

vvv

Purdey awoke with a jolt, and for a moment forgot that Gambit wasn’t there and that there was no one to reach for. Her defences weren’t at their strongest so soon after waking up, so it hit her harder than she would have liked when she reached automatically for the person beside her and met with only empty bed. She was struck by the sudden urge to cry, but that wouldn’t get either her or Gambit anywhere, so after taking a few calming breaths, she threw back the covers and set about finding something to wear.

Purdey had moved a few necessities into Gambit’s flat a few weeks ago, after the regular trips back to her place for a change of clothes had worn thin. She’d told Gambit that if they were going to make a habit of spending the night at one another’s abodes, they ought to at least get the logistics right. Gambit had seemed very pleased with the idea, which surprised her slightly. She’d assumed that, like most men, he would want to hang onto the trappings of bachelorhood as long as possible, separate flat included. But he was positively enthusiastic about the idea. Shortly after, some closet space had been cleared at both ends, and Purdey now had a sizeable part of her wardrobe, including shoes, belts, and scarves, hanging comfortably next to Gambit’s shirts and suits, with those suits that had made way for her wardrobe now tucked in with her dresses at her own flat. It made things much easier, and that morning Purdey found the shared closet provided some much-needed solace. The only difference between the clothes she kept at Gambit’s and the ones at her flat was the scent of leather they picked up due to their close proximity to some of Gambit’s bomber jackets and Cuban heels. But that was hardly a problem—it was a nice smell, a reassuring smell that followed her throughout the course of her day. Under the circumstances, Purdey knew she was going to appreciate it even more that particular day. She selected a pink blouse and black skirt, before moving off to have a shower. 

After she had dressed, Purdey scanned the breakfast options in Gambit’s larder. There were cornflakes, naturally, along with things Gambit stocked as a courtesy for her. But with Gambit gone, somehow her usual morning repast felt…wrong. She grabbed the packet of cornflakes, shook it experimentally. Half full. Enough for a halfway decent breakfast, if she supplemented it with half a grapefruit and a little yogurt.

She was hunting for the marmalade when she realised something else was missing. It took her a moment to pinpoint what, exactly, but after a moment her nose provided the answer. No coffee. Coffee was a must in Gambit’s flat early in the morning. Without the strong, warm scent wafting through the space, the start of her day felt hollow. Purdey set about remedying that, even if she didn’t particularly like coffee. It was something she could do, and if it made her feel better and less alone, then it was all to the good.

The coffee was brewing when she was startled by a small tap on the windowpane. She almost dropped the cup and saucer she was retrieving from the cupboard in her surprise, but whirling toward the source, she sighed in relief and treated herself to a small smile. A sparrow—perhaps better described as a ball of brown feathers--was blinking at her through the glass, head cocked inquisitively, as though wondering where the flat’s regular occupant had gotten to. Purdey smiled to herself, reached out slowly to ease the kitchen window open, trying not to startle the tiny bird. It hopped back a pace or two, but as soon as she had leaned back once more, it bopped innocently onto the sill, looking for all the world like the type of cartoon bird that was so often fond of trailing Disney princesses. 

“Good morning, Charlie,” she greeted the bird Gambit referred to as his ‘fine feathered friend’ as she reached beneath the counter for the jar of birdseed. She remembered well the first day she’d come across Gambit’s unofficial pet while waiting for the man himself to finish getting ready in the early days of their partnership, how pleasantly surprised she’d been to discover that he had a soft spot for this humble member of the animal kingdom. During the S-95 caper, she’d found the tiny creature laid out carefully on a tea towel, fast asleep. “Mike’s not here,” she explained, “so I’m afraid I’ll be serving breakfast this morning.” She took a handful of seed and scattered it on the sill, then propped one elbow on the counter and settled her head in her hand as she watched him fall upon the pile enthusiastically. “He’s in trouble,” she went on, feeling at once foolish for divulging her worries to a bird, but also relieved to finally be saying them out loud. “But if I have my way, he’ll be back soon.” She sighed, and Charlie left off eating to look up at her, black beady eyes fixed on her face. “Hopefully Steed will find something. Or Larry. Even if he hates Gambit, he’ll at least want to get him back so he can discredit him in person.” She chewed a lip worriedly. “I suppose I could call Steed, ask him if he’s found anything. Then again, if he had, he would have called me.” She straightened up. “What do you think, Charlie? Should I have breakfast first?”

She received an energetic chirp in response. Purdey smiled. “I don’t know why Mike said he felt lonely sometimes. Why get a dog when you’re better company than most people?”

She turned back to the coffee, pouring a cup and setting it on the table with the rest of her breakfast. She’d already pulled a chair out when another thought occurred to her. If Charlie’s tap had set her on edge, who knew what any other sound would do. And not every sound might precede something as innocent as the little sparrow. Purdey realised she was frightened, more than she wanted to admit, after seeing those photographs Vanessa had taken of her outside of her flat. Anyone could be watching. She forced herself to remain calm, stubbornly set her jaw, and let pragmatism be her watchword. She went to the drawer where Gambit kept his spare firearm, pulled out the Smith & Wesson, and checked the chamber. Fully loaded. _I loaded it myself this morning._ She could hear his voice, echoing in her ears from all those months ago, could see Gambit stepping into the dark chamber in the castle on the Isle to St. Dorca save her and Steed on what would become one of many occasions. She made sure the safety was on and weighed it, felt the reassuring solidness of the weapon in her hand, before returning to the breakfast table. She was going to enjoy her breakfast now, watchers be damned. 

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Purdey called, “It’s not locked.”

Steed entered, eyebrow raised incredulously. “Under the circumstances, I would have thought your security—“ It was then he noticed the Smith & Wesson resting on the table next to Purdey’s bowl. “Ah,” he said in understanding.

“I thought it would be best to take precautions,” Purdey explained, sipping her coffee.

“I thought you didn’t hold with caffeine,” Steed pointed out, coming to sit across from her at the table.

“I don’t,” Purdey confirmed, wincing at the taste. “I also don’t know how Mike stands it, but it didn’t feel right, somehow, to not smell coffee brewing in the flat this morning.” She smiled sadly. “Don’t tell him I’ve gone sentimental. It’ll only go to his head and make him insufferable.”

“I promise,” Steed vowed, as Purdey went to rinse out her bowl.

“Any leads?” Purdey inquired, trying to keep the tension out of her voice.

“One or two. They worked all night at it, but Miss Thyme is very difficult to find. Our files raise more questions than answers, and Army Intelligence wants all the paperwork filed before it so much as confirms it has a file on Vanessa Thyme.”

“What about the other men in Gambit’s unit? Can you access their files?” Purdey wanted to know, returning to her seat.

Steed shook his head. “It’s the same story as the dossiers on Miss Thyme. They’re even circumspect about Gambit’s army record. The man I spoke to only admitted he was part of that particularly secret detail when I confronted him with Gambit’s Ministry file.” Steed set his bowler and brolly down on the table and rubbed his forehead in fatigue. Purdey didn’t have to ask to know that he’d been up just as late as Larry’s people, trying to find a way to get Gambit back.

“Nothing solid, then,” Purdey inferred, tapping one perfectly-manicured nail against her bottom lip. “Otherwise you would have told me the moment you walked in.” 

“Miss Thyme is very good at covering her tracks,” Steed acknowledged.

Purdey scowled. “I wish you’d quit calling her that. Makes her sound respectable.”

“Always regard your enemy with a healthy dose of respect, if you can,” Steed advised. “It helps your judgement no end, and sometimes it’ll buy you something in return.” He held Purdey’s angry eyes until her jaw wasn’t clenched to the point he thought it would crack. “I don’t like what she did to Gambit anymore than you, and I like her taking him hostage even less. But viewing this as a vendetta isn’t going to make things easier for him or you.” 

Purdey cast her eyes downward, chastised. “I’m sorry,” she apologised. “But you didn’t see him that night, when he told me the story about what happened to him last time Van--Miss Thyme got her claws into him. Steed, I’m scared,” she admitted. “If we don’t make find him in time...I don’t know what’ll happen to him.”

“All the more reason to keep a clear head and do Gambit proud.”

“I suppose,” Purdey said with a sigh, looking balefully at her grapefruit. “Is there anything hopeful on the horizon?”

Steed nodded. “The paperwork’s being processed. And Larry and his team are still combing through records for more leads on Thyme and where she might take Gambit in this country.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I get the distinct impression our military friends would rather everyone forgot about Gambit’s unit, and what it got up to. Even when they do hand over his files, we’ll have to find our own leads.”

Purdey sighed disconsolately. “So we have nothing to do but wait?” 

“Not exactly. I’m going to pay a return visit to the club,” Steed informed. “Specifically to have a chat with the manager, who was conveniently absent last night.”

Purdey looked up from her grapefruit with a start. “Do you think he was in on it?”

“I think it would be very difficult to make Gambit disappear without someone on the inside making certain everyone was looking the other way,” Steed hypothesised. “I’ve been to more than my share of clubs where the clientele got away with murder.”

“Literally?” Purdey arched an interested eyebrow.

“Magician’s assistants disappearing alive and reappearing with a knife in the back,” Steed offered.

“Oh, dear,” Purdey sympathised. “And here I thought you only went to gentlemen’s clubs.”

“I do,” Steed confirmed, “but some of them have a looser definition of ‘gentleman’ than others. I used to work with this young nightclub singer, you see. I got her some very good gigs, met with a lot of club managers. Often I’d have to twist their arms, but we always came to an accord in the end.”

“I’m sure you did,” Purdey said with a smile, knowing that Steed’s usage of the phrase wasn’t entirely metaphorical. “Happy negotiating.”

“Thank you.” Steed’s eyes were alive with old memories. “I’ll contact you if I find anything.”

“Do.”


End file.
